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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY 



PALGKAVE'S 
THE 

GOLDEN TREASURY 



EDITED WITH NOTES 
BY 

WALTER BARNES, A. M. 

HEAD OF DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH 

IN THE STATE NORMAL SCHOOL^ FAIRMONT^ W. VA. 

AUTHOR OF '^'^ENGLISH IN THE COUNTRY SCHOOL''-' 




CHICAGO NEW YORK 

ROW, PETERSON & COMPANY 



1p^^ 






CorYRIGHT, 1915 
BY 

ROW, PETERSON & COMPANY 



AUG 2 1915 

©CIA406973 



PALGRAVE'S PREFACE 

This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others 
in the attempt made to include in it all the best original 
Lyrical pieces and Songs in our language (save a very 
few regretfully omitted on account of length), by writers 
not living, — and none beside the best. Many familiar 
verses will hence be met with ; many also which should be 
familiar: — the Editor will regard as his fittest readers 
those who love Poetry so well, that he can offer them 
nothing not already known and valued. 

The Editor is acquainted with no strict and exhaustive 
definition of Lyrical Poetry ; but he has found the task 
of practical decision increase in clearness and in facility 
as he advanced with the work, whilst keeping in view 
a few simple principles. Lyrical has been here held 
essentially to imply that each Poem shall turn on some 
single thought, feeling, or situation. In accordance with 
this, narrative, descriptive, and didactic poems^unless 
accompanied by rapidity of movement, brevity, and the 
colouring of human passion, — have been excluded. 
Humourous poetry, except in the very unfrequent 
instances where a truly poetical tone pervades the whole, 
with what is strictly personal, occasional, and religious, 
has been considered foreign to the idea of the book. 
Blank verse and the ten-syllable couplet, with all pieces 
markedly dramatic, have been rejected as alien from 
what is commonly understood by Song, and rarely con- 
forming to Lyrical conditions in treatment. But it is 
not anticipated, nor is it possible, that all readers shall 
think the line accurately drawn. Some poems, as Gray 's 

5 



g FALdKAVE'S FKKFACE 

Elegy, the Allegi^o and Penscroso, Wordsworth's Euth or 
Campbell's Lord Ullin, might be claimed with perhaps 
equal justice for a narrative or descriptive selection: 
whilst with reference especially to Ballads and Sonnets, 
the Editor can only state that he has taken his utmost 
pains to decide without caprice or partiality. 

This also is all he can plead in regard to a point even 
more liable to question; — what degree of merit should 
give rank among the Best. That a poem shall be worthy 
of the writer's genius, — that it shall reach a perfection 
commensurate with its aim, — ^that we should require fin- 
ish in proportion to brevity, — that passion, colour, and 
originality cannot atone for serious imperfections in 
clearness, unity or truth, — that a few good lines do not 
make a good poem, that popular estimate is serviceable 
as a guidepost more than as a compass, — above all, that 
excellence should be looked for rather in the whole than 
in the parts, — such and other such canons have been 
always steadily regarded. He may however add that 
the pieces chosen, and a far larger number rejected, have 
been carefully aud repeatedly considered; and that he 
has been aided throughout by two friends of independent 
and exercised judgment, besides the distinguished person 
addressed in the Dedication. It is hoped that by this 
procedure the volume has been freed from that one-sided- 
ness which must beset individual decisions : — but for the 
final choice the Editor is alone responsible. 

Chalmer's vast collection, with the whole works of all 
accessible poets not contained in it, and the best Anthol- 
ogies of different periods, have been twice systematically 
read through : and it is hence improbable that any omis- 
sions which may be regretted are due to oversight. The 
poems are printed entire, except in a very few instances 
where a stanza or passage has been omitted. Thes^ omis- 



PALGRAVE'S PREFACE 7 

sions have been risked only when the piece could be thus 
brought to a closer lyrical unity : and, as essentially op- 
posed to this unity, extracts, obviously such, are 
excluded. In regard to the text, the purpose of the book 
has appeared to justify the choice of the most poetical 
version, wherever more^han one exists ; and much labour 
has been given to present each poem, in disposition, spell- 
ing, and punctuation, to the greatest advantage. 

In the arrangement, the most poetically-effective order 
has been attempted. The English mind has passed 
through phases of thought and cultivation so various 
and so opposed during these three centuries of Poetry, 
that a rapid passage between old and new, like rapid 
alteration, of the eye 's focus in looking at the landscape, 
will always be wearisome and hurtful to the sense of 
Beauty. The poems have been therefore distributed into 
Books corresponding, I to the ninety years closing about 
1616, II thence to 1700, III to 1800, IV to the half cen- 
tury just ended. Or, looking at the Poets who more or 
less give each portion its distinctive character, they 
might be called the Books of Shakespeare, Milton, Gray, 
and Wordsworth. The volume, in this respect, so far as 
the limitations of its range allow, accurately reflects the 
natural growth and evolution of our Poetry. A rigidly 
chronological sequence, hoAvever, rather fits a collection 
aiming at instruction than at pleasure, and the wisdom 
which comes through pleasure: — within each book the 
pieces have therefore been arranged in gradations of 
feeling or subject. And it is hoped that the contents of 
this Anthology will thus be found to present a certain 
unity, ''as episodes," in the noble language of Shelley, 
''to that great Poem which all poets, like the co-operat- 
ing thoughts of one great mind, have built up since the 
beginning of the world." 



8 PALGRAVE'S PREFACE 

As he closes his long survey, the Editor trusts he may 
add without egotism, that he has found the vague general 
verdict of popular Fame more just than those have 
thought, who, with too severe a criticism, would confine 
judgments on Poetry to ''the selected few of many gen- 
erations." Not many appear to have gained reputation 
without some gift or performance that, in due degree, 
deserved it : and if no verses by certain writers who show 
less strength than sweetness, or more thought than mas- 
tery of expression, are printed in this volume, it should 
not be imagined that they have been excluded without 
much hesitation and regret, — far less that they have 
been slighted. Throughout this vast and pathetic array 
of Singers now silent, few have been honoured with the 
name Poet, and have not possessed a skill in words, a 
sympathy with beauty, a tenderness of feeling, or serious- 
ness in reflection, which render their works, although 
never perhaps attaining that loftier and finer excellence 
here required, — better worth reading than much of what 
fills the scanty hours that most men spare for self- 
improvement, or for pleasure in any of its more elevated 
and permanent forms. — And if this be true of even 
mediocre poetry, for how much more are we indebted to 
the best! Like the fabled fountain of the Azores, but 
with a more various power, the magic of this Art can 
confer on each period of life its appropriate blessing: 
on early years Experience, on maturity Calm, on age, 
Youthfulness. Poetry gives treasures ''more golden 
than gold," leading us in higher and healthier ways than 
those of the world, and interpreting to us the lessons of 
Nature. But she speaks best for herself. Her true 
accents, if the plan has been executed with success, may 
be heard throughout the following pages: — wherever the 
Poets of England are honoured, wherever the dominant 



PALGRAVE'S PREFACE 9 

language of the world is spoken, it is hoped that they 
will find fit audience. 

1861 

Some poems, especially in Book I, have been added : — 
either on better acquaintance; — in deference to critical 
suggestions ; — or unknown to the Editor when first gath- 
ering his harvest. For aid in these after-gleanings he is 
specially indebted to the excellent reprints of rare early 
verse given us by Dr. Hannah, Dr. Grosart, Mr. Arber, 
Mr. Bullen, and others, — and (in regard to the additions 
of 1883) to the advice of that distinguished Friend, by 
whom the final choice has been so largely guided. The 
text has also been carefully revised from authoritative 
sources. It has still seemed best, for many reasons, to 
retain the original limit by which the selection was con- 
fined to those then no longer living. But the editor hopes 
that, so far as in him lies, a complete and definitive col- 
lection of our best Lyrics, to the central year of this 
fast-closing century, is now offered. 

1883-1890-1891 



INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION 

This edition of ^'The Golden Treasury" differs, I 
believe, from other editions in that the notes are literary 
rather than linguistic. I have shaped all my annota- 
tions to four ends: to bring out the literary quali- 
ties of the poems ; to discuss the metre ; to introduce any 
material that might aid in the interpretation, as, for 
example, the circumstances under which some of the 
lyrics in Shakespeare's plays were originally sung; and 
to give suggestions about the oral reading. I have 
endeavored, in a word, to assist students in the appre- 
ciation of the poems. 

Such an edition is assuredly new. But is it desirable ? 
I believe it is. It is because I felt the need of such an 
edition in my own work that my thoughts were first 
directed to the subject. I do not question, of course, 
that many a teacher will teach the poems better with an 
un-annotated edition than many another teacher v/ill 
with notes— notes like these or any other notes. Such 
a teacher will find this edition valuable only in saving 
time for him and his students and in giving him a chance 
hint here and there. But surely there are many teachers 
that will be glad to receive suggestions as to the literary 
qualities of the poems and the methods of approach to 
them. 

Certain it is that many of us do not know how to teach 
poetry. IMany of us emphasize the linguistic, the formal, 
and the intellectual phases, and ignore that for which 
poetry exists : the expression and the communication of 
emotion. I know that some teachers of English believe 
that the emotional cannot be taught except through the 

11 



12 INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION 

intellectual, that a poem must be zealously studied before 
it can be enjoyed. Of course, it is true that many poems 
cannot be enjoyed until certain intellectual problems 
have been solved, and it is equally true that the intel- 
lectual and the emotional go hand in hand. But the 
trouble has been that most of us content ourselves with 
the intellectual elements, taking it for granted that the 
student will feel the emotion of himself or that he would 
not feel it whatever we might do to assist him. I do not 
believe that. I believe that the student can be very mate- 
rially assisted if the teacher will lay emphasis upon the 
literary interpretation, upon the emotional phases of the 
poetry. It is in that belief that this edition has been 
prepared. I have tried to steer between the matter-of- 
fact, unemotional dissection of the poems, which will not 
arouse students, and the ecstatic admiration, which will 
arouse merely their antagonism ; but Scylla and Charyb- 
dis are so perilously close to each other that I do not 
pretend I have not, at times, approached each of them. 
Believing that there is no use in telling a student 
flatly that he must appreciate a poem, when perhaps he 
does not know and cannot discover what is the meaning 
of it or of some part of it, I have tried, in making my 
annotations, to remove all the mental obstacles before 
approaching the emotional elements or the oral reading. 
I have included a good many textual glosses, though I 
set out with the intention of giving few. I have found, 
on the whole, that it is not the obsolete word that pre- 
sents the greatest difficulty, but the word which, in the 
particular passage, has an unusual meaning. If a stu- 
dent does not know any meaning for a word, he will con- 
sult a dictionary — perhaps; but if he knows a meaning, 
he may conclude that it fits the particular case, and so 
WTcst the entire passage from its proper meaning. Take 



INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION 13 

an illustration : Suppose that the student does not know 
that ''stare", in the second stanza of No. 73, means 
''starling", but that he does know, as he certainly will, 
that there is a verb, "stare", meaning to "gaze at fix- 
edly." The chances are that he will so interpret the 
word, connecting it with "sing" and "give" in the same 
stanza. Most of my notes on words and phrases are on 
those that might be misunderstood. I have made few 
glosses on mythological references. 

A word as to the directions for oral reading. Most 
of us believe that poetry should be read aloud. But 
we permit our convictions to be set aside too easily — 
we have not time, or the students do not read well, or 
we ourselves do not read well. We need to believe that 
poetry is not poetry until it is read aloud, as music is 
not music until it is sung or played. I hold that it is 
an essential part of our work as teachers of poetry to 
train students in the art of reading aloud. For this 
reason I have given, directly or by implication, many 
suggestions for oral reading. I have tried not to be 
"elocutionary", and I have tried to base my suggestions 
on the obvious qualities of the poems under discussion. 
There is one other unusual feature in the book. I 
have annotated all the poems in the first book, but I 
have left a good many for the student to work out in the 
second book, more in the third book, and very many in 
the fourth. The motive underlying this is, of course, 
the desire to give the student some ideals of criticism 
and some bases of appreciation, and to make him inde- 
pendent of text and teacher by putting him forward 
to do the work. I have tried to make him self-sufficient, 
within limits; and I have tried to make myself, by the 
time the student has done faithful work on the first part 
of the book, unnecessary. 



14 INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION 

Teachers will readily perceive that I have had space 
for but the notes. Even in these I have had to be so 
brief that I fear I am sometimes obscure, and I also have 
had to' employ some technical terms without properly 
defining them. I have had no space to make cross- 
references, I have had no space to discuss the different 
lyric forms or the characteristics of the authors and the 
periods. I am sorry I could not touch upon all this, 
for I believe it is, though often overdone, an essential 
part of literary study. But the necessity of doing well 
the one thing I thought should be done prevented me 
from following up any of these interesting lines. I sug- 
gest that the teacher provide himself with ''Notes on 
Palgrave's Golden Treasury," the Macmillan Co., New 
York, where he Avill find all this and much more. 

I have changed the punctuation in many places — for 
the better, I hope. These alterations were made not so 
much to make the meaning different as to make it clear. 

I have not had access to the definitive editions of some 
of the poems in ' ' The Golden Treasury ' ', so have had 
little opportunity to study variant readings intelligently. 
I have employed the reading that seemed the best. This 
is not good scholarship, certainly ; but I have been the 
less unwilling to do this because I design the notes for 
students rather than for scholars, and I have yet to find 
a young student who is very much interested in 
pedantic quibbling — and scribbling — on minute points 
of scholarship. 

My thanks are due Professor Bliss Perry of Harvard 
University, Professor Waitman Barbe of West Virginia 
University, and Mr. Charles Welsh of the World Book 
Company, for their sensible and sympathetic criticism 
of my manuscript. W. B. 

Fairmont, W. Va., Dec. 15, 1914. 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY 



BOOK ONE 

1 SPRING 

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; 
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing : 
"Cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!" 

The palm and may make country houses gay. 
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day. 
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay : 
"Cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!" 

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit. 
In every street these tunes our ears do greet: 
"Cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!" 
Spring! the sweet Spring! 



TJiomas Nash 



THE FAIRY LIFE 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 
In a cowslip's bell I lie; 
There I couch when owls do cry ; 

15 



16 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

On the bat's back I do fly 

After summer merrily. 

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 

3 Come unto these yellow sands, 

And then take hands: 
Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd 

The wild waves whist, 
Foot it featly here and there 
And, sweet Sprites, the burthen bear. 
Hark, hark! 

Bow-bow. 
The watch-dogs bark: 

Bow-wow. 
Hark, hark ! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 

William Shakespeare 

4 SUMMONS TO LOVE 

Phoebus, arise ! 

And paint the sable skies 

With azure, white, and red; 

Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed 

That she may thy career with roses spread; 

The nightingales thy coming each- where sing: 

Make an eternal Spring! 

Give life to this dark world which lieth dead; 

Spread forth thy golden hair 

In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 

And emperor-like decore 

With diadem of pearl thy temples fair; 



WILLIAM DRUMMOND I7 

Chase hence the ugly night, 

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. 

— This is that happy morn, 

That day, long-wished day 

Of all my life so dark, 

(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn 

And fates my hopes betray)^ 

Which, purely white, deserves 

An everlasting diamond should it mark. 

This is the morn shoald bring unto this grove 

My Love, to hear and recompense my love. 

Fair King, who all preserves. 

But show thy blushing beams. 

And thou two sweeter eyes 

Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 

Did once thy heart surprize. 

Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise; 

If that ye winds would hear 

A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, 

Your furious chiding stay; 

Let Zephyr only breathe. 

And with her tresses play. 

— The winds all silent are, 

And Phoebus in his chair 

Ensaffroning sea and air 

Makes vanish every star; 

Night like a drunkard reels 

Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels; 

The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue. 

The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue; 

Here is the pleasant place — 

And nothing wanting is, save She, alas! 

William Drummond of Haivthornden 



18 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

5 TIME AND LOVE 

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age; 
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, 
And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage ; 
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
And the firm soil win of the watery main. 
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; 
When I have seen such interchange of state, 
Or state itself confounded to decay, 
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
That Time will come and take my Love away: 
— This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 

William Shakespeare 



Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 
But sad mortality o'ersways their power. 
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 
how shall summer's honey breath, hold out 
Against the wreckful siege of battering days. 
When rocks impregnable are not so stout 
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? 
fearful meditation ! where, alack ! 
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? 
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ? 
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? 
! none, unless this miracle have might : 
That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 

William Shakespeare 



7 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWl-] 19 

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE 

Come live with me and be my Love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 

There will we sit upon the rocks 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 
And a thousand fragrant posies, 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroider 'd all with leaves of myrtle; 

A gown made of the finest wool. 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull, 
Pair lined slippers for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold; 

A belt of straw and ivy buds. 
With coral clasps and amber studs: 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Come live with me and be my Love. 

Thy silver dishes for thy meat. 
As precious as the gods do eat, 
Shall on an ivory table be 
Prepared each day for thee and me. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May-morning: 
If these delights thy mind may move. 
Then live with me and be my Love. 

Christopher Marlowe 



20 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

8 OMNIA VINCIT 

Fain would I change that note 
To which fond Love hath charm 'd me 
Long, long to sing by rote, 
Fancying that that harm'd me; 
Yet when this thought doth come: 
''Love is the perfect sum 

Of all delight," 
I have no other choice 
Either for pen or voice 

To sing or write. 

Love ! they wrong thee much 
That say thy sweet is bitter, 
When thy rich fruit is such 
As nothing can be sweeter. 
Fair house of joy and bliss, 
Where truest pleasure is, 

I do adore thee ; 

1 know thee what thou art, 
I serve thee with my heart, 

And fall before thee ! 

Unknown 

9 A MADEIGAL 

Crabbed Age and Youth 
Cannot live together: 
Youth is full of pleasance, 
Age is full of care; 
Youth like summer morn, 
Age like winter weather; 
Youth like summer brave, 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 21 

Age like winter bare ; 
Youth is full of sport, 
Age 's breath is short ; 
Youth is nimble, Age is lame ; 
Youth is hot and bold. 
Age is weak and cold; 
Youth is wild, and Age is tame : — 
Age, I do abhor thee. 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 
O ! my Love, my Love is young. 
Age, I do defy thee — 
O sweet shepherd, hie thee, 
For methinks thou stay 'st too long. 
William Shakespeare 



10 Under the greenwood tree 

Who loves to lie with me, 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's tlij:"oat — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i' the sun. 
Seeking the food he eats 
And pleased with what he gets — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

William Shakespeare 



22 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

11 It was a lover and his lass — 

With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino! 
That o'er the green corn-field did pass 
In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding: 

Sweet lovers love the Spring. 

Betw^een the acres of the rye — 

With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino ! 
These pretty country folks w^ould lie. 
In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding: 
Sweet lovers love the Spring. 

This carol they began that hour — 

With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino ! 
How that life was but a flower 
In spring time, the only pretty ring time. 
When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding: 
Sweet lovers love the Spring. 

And therefore take the present time — 

With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino ! 
For love is crowned wdth the prime 
In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding: 
Sweet lovers love the Spring. 

William. Shakespeare 

12 PRESENT IN ABSENCE 

Absence, hear thou this protestation 
Against thy strength, 
Distance, and length: 



SIR PHILIP SYDNEY 23 

Do what thou canst for alteration, 

For hearts of truest mettle 
Absence doth join, and Time doth settle. 

Who loves a mistress of such quality, 

His mind hath found 

Affection 's ground 
Beyond time, place, and mortality. 

To hearts that cannot vary 
Absence is present, Time doth tarry. 

By absence this good means I gain : 
That I can catch her. 
Where none can match her. 
In some close corner of my brain; 

There I embrace and kiss her : 
And so I both enjoy and miss her. 

John Donne 



13 VIA AMORIS 

High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be, 
And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet. 
Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet 
More oft than to a chamber-melody,— 
Now, blessed you bear onward blessed me 
To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet; 
My IMuse and I must you of duty greet 
With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully: 
Be you still fair, honour 'd by public heed; 
By no encroachment wrong 'd, nor time forgot; 
Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ; 
And, that you know I envy you no lot 



24 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, — 
Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss! 

;S'*V Philip Sidney 



14 ABSENCE 

Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
I have no precious time at all to spend 
Nor services to do, till you require ; 
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour 
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
When you have bid your servant once adieu ; 
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
Save, where you are, how happy you make those ;- 
So true a fool is love, that in your will 
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. 

William Shakespeare 

15 How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, 
What old December 's bareness everywhere ! 
And yet this time removed was summer 's time ; 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime. 

Like widow 'd wombs after their lords' decease: 
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
But hope of orphans, and un father 'd fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 



WI. LIAM SHAKESPEARE 25 

And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer 
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's near. 

William Shakespeare 



16 A CONSOLATION 

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
• And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate. 
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope. 
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope. 
With what I most enjoy contented least; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. 
Haply I think on thee — and then my state. 
Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven 's gate ; 
For thy sweet love remember 'd, such wealth brings 
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 

William Shakespeare 

17 THE UNCHANGEABLE 

never say that I was false of heart. 

Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify: 

As easy might I from myself depart 

As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie. 

That is my home of love ; if I have ranged. 

Like him that travels, I return again, 

Just to the time, not with the time exchanged. 

So that myself bring water for my stain. 



26 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Never believe, though in my nature reign 'd 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
That it could so preposterously be stain 'd 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good : 
For ''nothing" this wide universe I call^ 
Save thou, my rose: in it thou art my all. 

William Shakespeare 



18 
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 
For, as you were when first your eye I eyed. 
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold 
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; 
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 
In process of the seasons have I seen ; 
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand. 
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived ; 
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand. 
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : 
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, — 
Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. 

William Shakespeare 



19 ROSALINE 

Like to the clear in highest sphere 
Where all imperial glory shines. 
Of selfsame colour is her hair 
Whether unfolded, or in twines : 
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! 



THOIMAS LODGE 27 

Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, 
Resembling heaven by every wink; 
The Gods do fear whenas they glow, 
And I do tremble when I think 
Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 
That beautifies Aurora's face. 
Or like the silver crimson shroud 
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace: 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Her lips are like two budded roses 
Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh. 
Within which bounds she balm encloses 
Apt to entice a deity : 

Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

Her neck is like a stately tower 
Where Love himself imprison 'd lies, 
To watch for glances every hour 
From her divine and sacred eyes: 

Heigh ho, for Rosaline ! 
With orient pearl, with ruby red. 
With marble white, with sapphire blue 
Her body every way is fed, 
Yet soft in touch and sweet in view: 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 

Nature herself her shape admires ; 
The Gods are wounded in her sight; 
And love forsakes his heavenly fires 
And at her eyes his brand doth light : 

Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
Then muse not. Nymphs, though I bemoan 



28 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The absence of fair Rosaline, 
Since for a fair there's fairer none, 
Nor for her virtues so divine : 
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline; 
Heigh ho, my heart ! would God that she were mine ! 

Thomas Lodge 

20 Omitted from this edition. 

21 A PICTURE 

Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, 
Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry : 
Out of thy golden quiver 
Take thou thy strongest arrow 
That will through bone and marrow, 
And me and thee of grief and fear deliver: — 
But come behind, for if she look upon thee, 
Alas! poor Love! then thou art woe-begone thee. 

Unknown 

22 A SONG FOR MUSIC 

Weep you no more, sad fountains; 

What need you flow so fast ? 
Look how the snowy mountains 

Heaven 's sun doth gently waste ! 
But my Sun's heavenly eyes 
View not your weeping. 
That now lies sleeping. 
Softly, now softly lies. 
Sleeping. 

Sleep is a reconciling, 

A rest that peace begets : — 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 29 

Doth not the sun rise smiling, 
When fair at even he sets? 

— Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes ! 
Melt not in weeping! 
While She lies sleeping, 
Softly, now softly lies. 
Sleeping ! 

Unknown 



23 TO HIS LOVE 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 

And summer 's lease hath all too short a date ; 

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 

And every fair from fair sometimes declines, 

By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd. 

But thy eternal summer shall not fade 

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 

Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, 

When in eternal lines to time thou growest: — 

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 

William Shakespeare 



24 TO HIS LOVE 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights 



30 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have exprest 
Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. 
So ^11 their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all, you prefiguring; 
And for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing: 
For w^e, which now behold these present days. 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 

William Shakespeare 



25 BASIA 

Turn back, you wanton flyer, 
And answer my desire 

With mutual greeting. 
Yet bend a little nearer, — 
True beauty still shines clearer 

In closer meeting ! 
Hearts with hearts delighted 
Should strive to be united, 
Each other's arms with arms enchaining,- 

Hearts with a thought, 
Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining. 

What harvest half so sweet is 
As still to reap the kisses 

Grown ripe in sowing? 
And straight to be receiver 
Of that which thou art giver, 

Rich in bestowing? 



THOMAS CAMPION 31 

There is no strict observing 
Of times' or seasons' swerving, 
There is ever one fresh spring abiding. 
Then what we sow with our lips 
Let us reap, love's gains dividing. 
Thomas Campion 

26 ADVICE TO A GIRL 

Never love unless you can 

Bear with all the faults of man! 

Men sometimes will jealous be 

Though but little cause they see. 

And hang the head as discontent, 

And speak what straight they will repent. 

Men, that but one Saint adore, 
Make a show of love to more ; 
Beauty must be scorn 'd in none, 
Though but truly served in one: 
For what is courtship but disguise ? 
True hearts may have dissembling eyes. 

Men, when their affairs require. 
Must awhile themselves retire ; 
Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, 
And not ever sit and talk. 
If these and such-like you can bear, 
Then like, and love, and never fear ! 

Thomas Campion 

27 LOVE'S PERJURIES 

On a day, alack the day! 

Love, w^hose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair 



32 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Playing in the wanton air. 

Through the velvet leaves the wind, 

All unseen, 'gan passage find, 

That the lover, sick to death, 

Wished himself the heaven 's breath. 

''Air," quoth he, ''thy cheeks may blow; 

Air, would I might triumph so ! 

But, alack, my hand is sworn 

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn. 

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet. 

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 

Do not call, it sin in me 

That I am forsworn for thee: 

Thou for whom Jove would swear 

Juno but an Ethiope were, 

And deny himself for Jove, 

Turning mortal for thy love." 

William Shakespeare 



28 A SUPPLICATION 

Forget not yet the tried intent 
Of such a truth as I have meant; 
My great travail so gladly spent: 
Forget not yet ! 

Forget not yet when first began 
The weary life ye know, since whan 
The suit, the service none tell can : 
Forget not yet ! 

Forget not yet the great assays, 
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, 
The painful patience in delays: 
Forget not yet ! 



SIR THOMAS WYAT 33 

Forget not ! O, forget not this : 
How long ago hath been, and is 
The mind that never meant amiss: 
Forget not yet ! 

Forget not then thine own approved 
The which so long hath thee so loved, 
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved : 
Forget not this! 

Sw Thomas Wyat 

29 TO AURORA 

if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm, 

And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest; 

Then thou would 'st melt the ice out of thy breast 

And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. 

if thy pride did not our joys control. 

What world of loving wonders jshould 'st thou see ! 

For if I saw thee once transform 'd in me, 

Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul; 

Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine; 

And if that aught mischanced, thou should 'st not moan 

Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone ; 

No, I would have my share in what were thine : 

And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one. 

This happy harmony would make them none. 

William Alexander, Earl of Sterline 

30 IN LACRIMAS 

I saw my Lady weep, 
And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 

Her face was full of woe, 



34 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 

Sorrow was there made fair, 
And Passion, wise ; Tears, a delightful thing ; 
Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare : 

She made her sighs to sing. 
And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 

fairer than aught else 
The world can show, leave off in time to grieve ! 
Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: 

Tears kill the heart, believe, 
strive not to be excellent in woe. 
Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. 

Unknown 



31 TRUE LOVE 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments. Love is not love 
Which alters when it alteration finds. 
Or bends with the remover to remove : — 

no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 

It is the star to every wandering bark, 

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come; 

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. 

But bears it out ev 'n to the edge of doom : — 

If this be error, and upon me proved, 

1 never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

William Shakespeare 



SIR PHILIP SYDN1<]Y 35 

32 A DITTY 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, 
By just exchange one for another given; 
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 
There never was a better bargain driven: 
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 

His heart .in me keeps him and me in one, 
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides ; 
He loves my heart, for once it was his own, 
I cherish his because in me it bides: 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 

Sir Philip Sidney 

33 LOVE'S INSIGHT 

Though others may Her brow adore, 

Yet more must I, that therein see far more 

Than any other's eyes have power to see. 

She is to me 
]\Iore than to any others she can be! 
I can discern more secret notes 
That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes, 
Than any else besides have art to read. 

No looks proceed 
From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. 

Unknown 

34 LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain. 

And you, my love, as high as heaven above, 

Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain. 

Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. 



36 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Were I as high as heaven above the plain, 

And you, my love, as humble and as low 

As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 

Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go. 

Were you the ea^th, dear love, and I the skies. 

My love should shine on you like to the sun. 

And Look upon you with ten thousand eyes 

Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. 

Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, 

Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. 

Joshua Sylvester 

35 CARPE DIEM 

Mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
stay and hear! your true-love's coming 

That can sing both high and low. 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting: 
Journeys end in lovers meeting — 

Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love ? 'tis not hereafter : 
Present mirth hath present laughter; 

What 's to come is still unsure ; 
In delay there lies no plenty, — 
Then come and kiss me, Sweet-and-frv\^enty : 

Youth's a stuff will not endure. 

William Shakespeare 



36 AN HONEST AUTOLYCUS 

Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave, and new, 
Good penny-worths, — but money cannot move: 

I keep a fair but for the Fair to view ; 
A beggar may be liberal of love. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 37 

Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true — 

The heart is true. 

Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again ; 
My trifles come as treasures from my mind ; 
It is a precious jewel to be plain ; 

Sometimes in shell the orient 'st pearls we find: — 
Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain ! 

Of me a grain ! 

Unknown 

37 WINTER 

When icicles hang by the wall 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 

And Tom bears logs into the hall. 
And milk comes frozen home in pail. 

When blood is nipt, and ways be foul : 

Then nightly sings the staring owl 
Tu-whit ! 
Tu-who ! A merry note ! 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

When all about the wind doth blow. 
And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 

And birds sit brooding in the snow. 
And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl: 

Then nightly sings the staring owl 
Tu-whit ! 
Tu-who! A merry note! 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

William Shakespeare 



38 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

38 

That time of year thou may 'st in me behold 

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 

As after sunset fadeth in the west, 

Which by and by black night doth take away, 

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 

In me thou see'st the glowing of siich fire, 

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie 

As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 

Consumed with that which it was nourish 'd by: 

— This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong. 

To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 

William Shakespeare 

39 MEMORY 

When to the sessions of sweet, silent thought 

I summon up remembrance of things past, 

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste. 

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 

And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe. 

And moan the expense of many a vanish 'd sight. 

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 

Which I new pay, as if not paid before. 

— But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend, 

All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 

William Shakespeare 



WIIiLIAM SHAKESPEARE 39 

40 SLEEP 

Come, Sleep, Sleep ! the certain knot of peace, 
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, 
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low; 
With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw: 

make in me those civil wars to cease; 

1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so : 

Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, 
A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, 
A rosy garland and a weary head; 
And if these things, as being thine in right, 
]\Iove not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me. 
Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 

Sir Philip Sidney 

41 EEVOLUTIONS 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, 

So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 

Each changing place with that which goes before, 

In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 

Nativity, once in the main of light, 

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown 'd. 

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight. 

And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. 

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth. 

And delves the parallels in beauty's l)row, 

Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth. 

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : — 

And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand 

Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 

William. Shakespeare 



40 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

42 

Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 

And like enough thou know'st thy estimate; 

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; 

My bonds in thee are all determinate. 

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? 

And for that riches where is my deserving? 

The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 

And so my patent back again is swerving. 

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own w^orth then not knowing, 

Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; 

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 

Comes home again, on better judgment making. 

Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter : 

In sleep, a king ; but waking, no such matter. 

William Shakespeare 

43 THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION 

They that have power to hurt, and will do none, 
That do not do the thing they most do show, 
"Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, — 
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces. 
And husband nature's riches from expense; 
They are the lords and owners of their faces, 
Others, but stewards of their excellence. 
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 
Though to itself it only live and die ; 
But if that flow^er wdth base infection meet, 
The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 
Lilies that fester smell far worse than w^eeds. 
William Shakespeare 



SIR THOMAS WYAT 41 

44 THE LOVER'S APPEAL 

And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! for shame, 
To save thee from the blame 
Of all my grief and grame. 
And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath loved thee so long 
in wealth and woe among: 
And is thy heart so strong 
As for to leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath given thee my heart 
Never for to depart 
Neither for pain nor smart; 
And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 

And have no more pity 

Of him that loveth thee? 

Alas! thy cruelty! 

And wilt thou leave me thus? 

Say nay ! say nay ! 

Sir Thomas Wyat 

45 THE NIGHTINGALE 

As it fell upon a day 

In the merry month of May, 

Sitting in a pleasant shade 



42 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Which a grove of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 

Trees did grow and plants did spring; 

Every thing did banish moan 

Save the Nightingale alone. 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 

Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn. 

And there sung the dolefuU'st ditty 

That to hear it was great pity. 

"Fie, fie, fie," now would she cry; 

*'Teru, teru," by and by: 

That to hear her so complain 

Scarce I could from tears refrain; 

For her griefs so lively shown 

Made me think upon mine own. 

— Ah, thought I, thou mourn 'st in vain, 

None takes pity on thy pain: 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, 

Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; 

King Pandion, he is dead. 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; 

All thy fellow birds do sing 

Careless of thy sorrowing. 

Even so, poor bird, like thee 

None alive will pity me. 

Bichard Barnefield 



46 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born. 
Relieve my languish, and restore the light; 
With dark forgetting of my care, return. 
And let the day be time enough to mourn 
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth ; 



SAMUEL DANIEL 43 

Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, 
Without the torment of the night's untruth 
Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, 
To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
Never let rising sun approve you liars. 
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow : 
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain. 
And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 

Samuel Daniel 



47 

The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 
Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, 
While late-bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth 
Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making ; 
And mournfully bewailing, 
Her throat in tunes expresseth 
What grief her breast oppresseth 
For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing. 

O Philomela fair, O take some gladness, 
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness : 
Thine earth now springs, mine f adeth ; 
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 

Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish 

But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken, 
Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish. 
Full womanlike complains her will was broken. 
But I, who, daily craving. 
Cannot have to content me. 
Have more cause to lament me. 
Since wanting is more woe than too much having. 



44 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

O Philomela fair, take some gladness 
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness : 
Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 

Sir Philip Sidney 

48 FEUSTRA 

Take, take those lips away 
That so sweetly were forsworn. 
And those eyes, the break of day, 
Lights that do mislead the morn; 
But my kisses bring again. 

Bring again — 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 

Seal'd in vain ! 
William Shakespeare 

49 LOVE'S FAREWELL 

Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, — 

Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; 

And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 

That thus so cleanly I myself can free. 

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 

And when we meet at any time again. 

Be it not seen in either of our brows 

That we one jot of former love retain. 

Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, 

When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies. 

When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 

And innocence is closing up his eyes, 

— ^Now if thou would 'st, when all have given him over, 

From death to life thou might 'st him yet recover! 

Michael Drayton 



THOMAS CAMPION 45 

50 IN IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HOMO 

Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! 

Though thou be black as night 

And she made all of light, 
Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! 

Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth ! 

Though here thou liv'st disgraced 

And she in heaven is placed, 
Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth ! 

Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth, 

That so have scorched thee 

As thou still black must be 
Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. 

Follow her, while yet her glory shineth ! 

There comes a luckless night 

That will dim all her light : 
— And this the black unhappy shade divineth. 

Follow still, since so thy fates ordained ! 

The sun must have his shade, 

Till both at once do fade, — 
The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. 

Thomas Campion 

51 BLIND LOVE 

me! what eyes hath Love put in my head. 
Which have no correspondence with true sight ; 
Or if they have, where is my judgment fled, 
That censures falsely what they see aright ? 



46 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 

What means the world to say it is not so ? 

If it be not, then love doth well denote 

Love 's eye is not so true as all men 's. No, 

How can it? how can love's eye be true. 

That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? 

No marvel then though T mistake my view: 

The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. 

O cunning Love ! w^ith tears thou keep 'st me blind, 

Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find ! 

William Shakespeare 

52 

Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me ! 

For who a sleeping lion dares provoke? 
It shall suffice me here to sit and see 

Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke. 
What sight can more content a lover's mind 
Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind? 

My words have charm 'd her, for secure she sleeps, 
Though guilty much of wrong done to my love ; 

And in her slumber, see ! she close-eyed weeps : 
Dreams often more than waking passions move. 

Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee. 

That she in peace may wake and pity me. 

Thomas Campion 



53 THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS 

While that the sun with his beams hot 
Scorched the fruits in dale and mountain, 
Philon the shepherd, late forgot, 



UNIvNOWN 47 

Sitting beside a crystal fountain, 
In shadow of a green oak tree 
Upon his pipe this song play 'd he : 

''Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 

Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 

Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

''So long as I was in your sight 
I was your heart, your soul, and treasure ; 
And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd 
Burning in flames beyond all measure : 

— Three days endured your love to me, 

And it was lost in other three ! 
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

"Another Shepherd you did see 
To whom your heart was soon enchained ; 
Full soon your love was leapt from me, 
Full soon my place he had obtained. 

Soon came a third, your love to win, 

And we were out and he was in. 
Adieu, Love, adieu. Love, untrue Love, 
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

"Sure you have made me passing glad 
That you your mind so soon removed 
Before that I the leisure had 
To choose you for my best beloved: 

For all your love was past and done 

Two days before it was begun. 
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 



48 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

Unknown 



54 ADVICE TO A LOVER 

The sea hath many thousand sands. 
The siui hath motes as many, 
The sky is full of stars; and Love 
As full of woes as any: 
Believe me, that do know the elf, 
And make no trial by thyself! 

It is in truth a pretty toy 

For babes to play withal ; — 

But ! the honeys of our youth 

Are oft our age 's gall ! 

Self-proof in time will make thee know 

He was a prophet told thee so : 

A prophet that, Cassandra-like, 
Tells truth without belief ; 
For headstrong Youth will run his race, 
Although his goal be grief : — 
Love's Martyr, when his heat is past. 
Proves Care's Confessor at the last. 

Unknown 



55 A EENUNCIATION 

Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white, 
For all those rosy ornaments in thee, — 

THou art not sweet, though made of mere delight, 
Nor fair, nor sweet — unless thou pity me ! 



THOMAS CAMPION 49 

I will not soothe thy fancies ; thou shalt prove 
That beauty is no beauty without love. 

— Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure 

My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine ; 

Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, 

I '11 not be wrapp 'd up in those arms of thine : 

— Now show it, if thou be a woman right — 

Embrace and kiss and love me in despite ! 

Thomas Campion 



56 Blow, blow, thou winter wind. 

Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude; 

Thy tooth is not so keen 

Because thou art not seen, 

Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly ; 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. 

Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 

This life is most jolly. 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. 

Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot; 

Though thou the waters warp. 

Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remember 'd not. 
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly ; 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. 

Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 

This life is most jolly. 

William Shakespeare 



50 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

57 A SWEET LULLABY 

Come little babe, come silly soul, 

Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief; 

Born, as I doubt, to all our dole. 

And to thy self unhappy chief. 
Sing lullaby and lap it warm, 
Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. 

Thou little think 'st and less dost know, 
The cause of this thy mother's moan. 
Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe. 
And I myself am all alone. 

Why dost thou weep ? why dost thou wail ? 

And knowest not yet what thou dost ail. 

Come little wretch, ah silly heart. 
Mine only joy, what can I more? 
If there be any wrong thy smart 
That may the destinies implore: 

'Twas I, I say, against my will; 

I wail the time, but be thou still. 

And dost thou smile, oh thy sweet face! 
Would God Himself He might thee see. 
No doubt thou would 'st soon purchase grace, 
I know right well, for thee and me ; 

But come to mother, babe, and play, 

For father false is fled away. 

Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance, 
Thy father home again to send, 
If death do strike me with his lance, 
Yet mayst thou me to him commend. 
If any ask thy mother's name, 
Tell how by love she purchased blame. 



UNKNOWN 51 

Then will his gentle heart soon yield; 

I know him of a noble mind ; 

Although a Lion in the field, 

A Lamb in town thou shalt him find: 
Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid. 
His sugar 'd words hath me betray 'd. 

Then mayst thou joy and be right glad, 

Although in woe I seem to moan, 

Thy father is no rascal lad, 

A noble youth of blood and bone ; 

His glancing looks, if he once smile, 
Right honest women may beguile. 

Come, little boy, and rock asleep. 
Sing lullaby and be thou still ; 
I, that can do nought else but weep. 
Will sit by thee and wail my fill: 

God bless my babe, and lullaby, 

From this thy father's quality! 

Unknoiun 



58 

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb 'st the skies! 

How silently, and with how Avan a face ! 

What ! may it be that e 'en in heavenly place 

That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ! 

Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 

Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; 

I read it in thy looks : thy languished grace. 

To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 

Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 

Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? 

Are beauties there as proud as here they be? 



52 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Do they above love to be loved, and yet 

Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? 

Do they call virtue, there, ungratefulness? 

Sir Philip Sidney 

59 CRUDELIS AMOR 

When thou must home to shades of underground, 

And there arrived, a new admired guest, 

The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, 

White lope, blithe Helen, and the rest, 

To hear the stories of thy finish 'd love 

From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; 

Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights. 
Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make. 
Of tourneys and great challenges of knights, 
And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake: 
When thou hast told these honours done to thee. 
Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me ! 

Thomas Campion 

60 SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 

Mother's wag, pretty boy, 

Father 's sorrow, father 's joy ; 

When thy father first did see 

Such a boy by him and me. 

He was glad, I was woe ; 

Fortune changed made him so. 

When he left his pretty boy. 

Last his sorrow, first his joy. 



ROBERT GREENE 53 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 

Streaming tears that never stint. 

Like pearl drops from a flint. 

Fell by course from his eyes. 

That one another 's place supplies ; 

Thus he grieved in every part, 

Tears of blood fell from his heart, 

When he left his pretty boy, 

Father's sorrow, father's joy. 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, 
When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. 

The wanton smiled, father wept, 

Mother cried, baby leapt; 

More he crow'd, more we cried, 

Nature could not sorrow hide. 

He must go, he must kiss 

Child and mother, baby bless, 

For he left his pretty boy. 

Father's sorrow, father's joy. 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. 

Bohert Greene 

61 A LAMENT 

My thoughts hold mortal strife; 

I do detest my life. 

And with lamenting cries, 

Peace to my soul to bring. 

Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize ; 

— But he, grim grinning King, 



54 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the best surprise, 
Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, 
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. 

William Drummond 



62 DIRGE OP LOVE 

Come away, come away, Death, 
And in sad cypres let me be laid; 

Fly away, fly away, breath; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O prepare it ! 
My part of death, no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet 
On my black coffin let there be strown; 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. 
A thousand thousand sighs to save. 

Lay me, O where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there. 

William Shakespeare 

63 TO HIS LUTE 

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow 
With thy green mother in some shady grove. 
When immelodious winds but made thee move, 
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. 
Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve. 
Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, 



wiLLiA:\r dri':\i]\i(;ni) 55 

Is reft from Earth to time those sphere^ above, 

What art thou but a harbinger of woe? 

Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, 

But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear; 

Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear ; 

For which be silent as in woods before : 

Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, 

Like widow 'd turtle, still her loss complain. 

William Drummond 



64 FIDELE 

Fear no more the heat 0' the sun, 
Nor the furious winter's rages; 

Thou thy worldly task hast done, 

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. 

Golden lads and girls all must. 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown 0' the great, 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 

Care no more to clothe and eat: 
To thee the reed is as the oak. 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning flash 

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; 

Fear not slander, censure rash ; 

Thou hast finish 'd joy and moan. 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

William Shakespeare 



56 THE C OLDEN TREASURY 

65 A SEA DIRGE 

Full fathom five thy father lies; 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes; 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell. 

Hark! now I hear them, — 
*' Ding, dong, bell." 

William Shakespeare 

66 A LAND DIRGE 

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren. 

Since o'er shady groves they hover 

And with leaves and flowers do cover 

The friendless bodies of unburied men ; 

Call unto his funeral dole 

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole 

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm 

And, when gay tombs are robb'd, sustain no harm; 

But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men ; 

For with his nails he'll dig them up again. 

John Webster 

67 POST MORTEM 

If Thou survive my well-contented day 

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, 

And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, 

Compare them with the bettering of the time; 

And though they be outstripp'd by every pen. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 57 

Eeserve them for my love, not for their rhyme 

Exceeded by the height of happier men. 

O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought — 

* ' Had my friend 's Muse grown with this growing age, 

A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 

To march in ranks of better equipage; 

But since he -died, and poets better prove, 

Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love." 

William Shakespeare 

68 THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell. 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so. 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, 
If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
if, I say, you look upon this verse 
"When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
But let your love even with my life decay ; 
Lest the wise world should look into your moan. 
And mock you with me after I am gone. 

William Shakespeare 

69 YOUNG LOVE 

Tell me where is Fancy bred. 
Or in the heart, or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished? 
Reply, reply. 



58 THE goldi:n treasury 

It is engender 'd in the eyes; 
With gazing fed; and Fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 
Let us all ring Fancy 's knell ; 
I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
— Ding, dong, bell. 
William Shakespeare 



70 A DILEMMA 

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting. 

Which, clad in damask mantles, deck the arbours, 
And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours, 
My eyes present me with a double doubting: 
For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes 
Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses. 

Unknown 

71 ROSALYND'S MADRIGAL 

Love in my bosom, like a bee. 
Doth suck his sweet; 
Now with his wings he plays with me, 
Now with his feet. 
Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
His bed amidst my tender breast; 
My kisses are his daily feast. 
And yet he robs me of my rest : 
Ah ! wanton, will ye ? 

And if I sleep, then percheth he 

With pretty flight. 
And makes his pillow of my knee 

The livelong night. 



THOMAS LODGE 59 

Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; 
He music plays, if so I sing ; 
He lends me every lovely thing, 
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting: 
Whist, wanton, will ye? — 

Else I with roses every day 

Will whip you hence. 
And bind you, when you long to play, 
For your offence; 
I '11 shut my eyes to keep you in ; 
I '11 make you fast it for your sin ; 
I '11 count your power not worth a pin ; 
— Alas ! what hereby shall I win. 
If he gainsay me? 

What if I beat the wanton boy 

With many a rod? 
He will repay me with annoy. 
Because a god. 
Then sit thou safely on my knee. 
And let thy bower my bosom be ; 
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee, 
Cupid ! so thou pity me. 

Spare not, but play thee ! 

Thomas Lodge 

72 CUPID AND CAMPASPE 

Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 

At cards for kisses : Cupid paid. 

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows. 

His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 



60 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; 

With these, the crystal of his brow, 

And then the dimple on his chin; 

All these did my Campaspe win : 

And last he set her both his eyes — 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas! become of me? 

Jolin Lyly 



73 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, 
With night we banish sorrow ; 
Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft 

To give my Love good-morrow ! 
Wings from the wind to please her mind. 

Notes from the lark I'll borrow; 
Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing. 
To give my Love good-morrow ; 

To give my Love good-morrow ; 
Notes from them both I'll borrow. 

Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, 

Sing, birds, in every furrow; 
And from each hill let music shrill 
Give my fair Love good-morrow! 
Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow! 
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 
Sing my fair Love good-morrow; 
To give my Love good-morrow 
Sing, birds, in every furrow ! 

TJiomas Hey wood 



EDMUND SPENSER 61 

74 PROTHALAMION 

Calm was the day, and through the trembling air 
Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play — 
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 
Hot Titan 's beams, which then did glister fair ; 
When I, (w^hom sullen care. 
Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 
In princes' court, and expectation vain 
Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 
Like empty shadows, did afflict by brain) 
Walked forth to ease my pain 
Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames, 
Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems. 
Was painted all with variable flowers. 
And all the meads adorn 'd with dainty gems 
Fit to deck maidens' bowers, 
And crown their paramours 
Against the bridal day, which is not long: 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

There in a meadow by the river's side 

A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, 

All lovely daughters of the flood thereby. 

With goodly greenish locks all loose untied 

As each had been a bride; 

And each one had a little wicker basket 

Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously. 

In which they gather 'd flowers to fill their flasket, 

And with fine fingers cropt full feateously 

The tender stalks on high. 

Of every sort which in that meadow grew 

They gather 'd some: the violet, pallid blue, 

The little daisy that at evening closes, 



Q2 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The virgin lily, and the primrose true, 
With store of vermeil roses, 
To deck their bridegrooms' posies 
Against the bridal day, which was not long: 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

With that I saw two Swans of goodly hue 
Come softly swimming down along the Lee; 
Two fairer birds I yet did never see: 
The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow 
Did never whiter show. 

Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be 
For love of Leda, whiter did appear ; 
Yet Leda was, they say, as write as he. 
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near ; 
So purely white they were 

That even the gentle stream, the which them bare 
Seemed foul to them, and bade his billows spare 
To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 
Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair 
And mar their beauties bright, 
That shone as Heaven's light 
Against their bridal day, which was not long: 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had liowers their fill, 
Ran all in haste to see that silver brood 
As they came floating on the crystal flood ; 
Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still 
Their wondering eyes to fill. 
Them seem 'd they never saw a sight so fair 
Of fowls, so lovely that they sure did deem 
Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair 



EDMUND SPENSER 53 

Which through the sky draw Venus ' silver team ; 
For sure they did not seem 
To be begot of any earthly seed, 
But rather Angels, or of Angels' breed; 
Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say, 
In sweetest season, when each flower and weed 
The earth did fresh array: 
So fresh they seem'd as day, 
Ev'n as their bridal day, which was not long: 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 
Great store of flowers, the honour of the- field, 
That to the sense did fragrant odours yield. 
All which upon those goodly birds they threw 
And all the waves did strew. 
That like old Peneus' waters they did seem. 
When down along by pleasant Tempe 's shore 
Scatter 'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, 
That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store. 
Like a bride's chamber-floor. 

Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound 
Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, 
The which presenting all in trim array, 
Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown 'd. 
Whilst one did sing this lay 
Prepared against that day. 
Against their bridal day, which was not long: 
Sweet Thames ! run softly till I end my song. 

*'Ye gentle birds! the world's fair ornament. 
And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour 
Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower. 



54 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Joy may you have, and gentle heart's content 

Of your love's couplement; 

And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, 

With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, 

Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove 

All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile 

For ever to assoil. 

Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, 

And blessed plenty wait upon your board ; 

And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, 

That fruitful issue may to you afford, 

Which may your foes confound. 

And make your joys redound 

Upon your bridal day, which is not long: 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. ' 

So ended she ; and all the rest around 
To her redoubled that, her undersong, 
Which said their bridal day should not be long; 
And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground 
Their accents did resound. 
So forth those joyous birds did pass along 
Adown the Lee that to them murmur 'd low, 
As he would speak but that he lack 'd a tongue ; 
Yet did by signs his glad affection show. 
Making his stream run slow. 
And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 
'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 
The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend 
The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, 
Did on those two attend. 
And their best service lend 

Against their wedding day, which was not long: 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 



EDMUND SPENSER 65 

At length they all to merry London came, 
To merry London, my most kindly nurse, 
That to me gave this life's first native source, 
Though from another place I take my name, 
An house of ancient fame. 

There when they came whereas those bricky towers 
The which on Thames' broad aged back to ride, 
Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, 
There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide, 
Till they decay 'd through pride ; 
Next whereunto there stands a stately place, 
Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace 
Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell. 
Whose want too well now feels my friendless case — 
But ah ; here fits not well 
Old woes, but joys to tell 
Against the bridal day, which is not long : 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 

Great England's glory and the Avorld's wide wonder. 

Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did 

thunder, 
And Hercules' two pillars standing near 
Did make to quake and fear. 
— Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry ! 
That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame 
Joy have thou of thy noble victory, 
And endless happiness of thine own name 
That promiseth the same ; 

That through thy prowess and victorious arms 
Thy country may be freed from foreign harms. 
And great Elisa's glorious name may ring 
Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms, 



QQ THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Which some brave Muse may sing 

To ages following, 

Upon the bridal day, which is not long : 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

From those high towers this noble lord issuing 
Like radiant Hesper when his golden hair 
In th ' ocean billows he hath bathed fair, 
Descended to the river's open viewing 
With a great train ensuing. 
Above the rest were goodly to be seen 
Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature, 
Beseeming well the bower of any queen, 
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature. 
Fit for so goodly stature, 

That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight 
Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright ; 
They two, forth pacing to the river's side, 
Eeceived those two fair brides, their love's delight; 
Which, at th' appointed tide. 
Each one did make his bride 
Against their bridal day, which is not long: 
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. 

Edmund Spenser 



75 THE HAPPY HEART 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 

sweet content! 
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex 'd? 

O punishment! 
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd 
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? 



THOMAS DEKKER 67 

O sweet content ! O sweet, O sweet content ! 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 

Honest labour bears a lovely face; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring? 

O sweet content ! 
Swdmm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? 

O punishment ! 
Then he that patiently want's burden bears, 
No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 
O sweet content ! sweet, O sweet content ! 
Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
Honest labour bears a lovely face; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 

Thomas Dekker 



76 SIC TRANSIT 

Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me ; 

For while thou view'st me with thy fading light 
Part of my life doth still depart with thee, 

And I still onward haste to my last night: 
Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly — 
So every day we live, a day we die. 

But O ye nights, ordain 'd for barren rest. 
How are my days deprived of life in you 

When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, 
By feigned death life sweetly to renew ! 

Part of my life, in that, you life deny : 

So every day we live, a day we die. 

Tliomas Campion 



gg THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

77 This Life, which seems so fair, 

Is like a bubble blown up in the air 
By sporting children's breath, 
Who chase it everywhere 
And strive who can most motion it bequeath. 
And though it sometimes seem of its own might 
Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, 
And firm to hover in that empty height, 
That only is because it is so light. 
— But in that pomp it doth not long appear ; 
For when 'tis most admired, in a thought, 
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. 

William Drummond 



78 SOUL AND BODY 

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
[Foil'd by] those rebel powers that thee array, 
"Why doth thou pine within, and suffer dearth. 
Painting thy outward w^alls so costly gay? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? 
Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 
Within be fed, without be rich no more: — 
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men. 
And death once dead, there's no more dying then. 

William Shakespeare 

79 The man of life upright. 

Whose guiltless heart is free 



THOMAS CAMPION 69 

From all dishonest deeds, 
Or thought of vanity ; 

The man whose silent days 

In harmless joys are spent, 
Whom hopes cannot delude 

Nor sorrow discontent: 

That man needs neither towers 

Nor armour for defence, 
Nor secret vaults to fly 

From thunder 's violence ; 

He only can behold 

With unaffrighted eyes 
The horrors of the deep 

And terrors of the skies. 

Thus, scorning all the cares 
That fate or fortune brings. 

He makes the heaven his book. 
His wisdom heavenly things; 

Good thoughts his only friends. 
His wealth a well-spent age, 

The earth his sober inn 
And quiet pilgrimage. 

Thomas Campion 

80 THE LESSONS OF NATURE 

Of this fair volume which we ''world" do name 
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care. 
Of Him who it corrects and did it frame 



70 THK C OLDEN TREASURY 

We clear might read the art and wisdom rare ; 

Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame, 

His providence extending everywhere, 

His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, 

In every page, no period of the same. 

But silly we, like foolish children, rest 

Well pleased with colour 'd vellum, leaves of gold. 

Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best. 

On the great Writer 's sense ne 'er taking hold ; 

Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught. 

It is some picture on the margin wrought. 

William Drummond 



81 

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move ? 

Is this the justice which on earth we find? 

Is this that firm decree which all doth bind? 

Are these your influences, Powers above? 

Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, 

Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove 

And they who thee, poor idol Virtue, love. 

Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind. 

Ah ! if a Providence doth sway this all. 

Why should best minds groan under most distress? 

Or why should pride humility make thrall, 

And injuries the innocent oppress? 

Heavens, hinder, stop this fate ; or grant a time 

When good may have, as well as bad, their prime ! 

William Drummond 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 71 

82 THE WORLD'S WAY 

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry — 

As: to behold desert a beggar born, 

And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, 

And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 

And gilded honour shamefully misplaced. 

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 

And right perfection wTongfully disgraced, 

And strength by limping sway disabled, 

And art made tongue-tied by authority. 

And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 

And simple truth miscall'd simplicity. 

And captive Good attending captain 111: — 

— Tired with all these, from these would I be gone. 

Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. 

William Shakespeare 

83 A WISH 

Happy were he could finish forth his fate 
In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure 
From all society, from love and hate 
Of worldly folk, there should he sleep secure, 

Then wake again, and yield God ever praise ; 
Content with hip, with haws, and brambleberry ; 
In contemplation passing still his days. 
And change of holy thoughts to make him merry ; 

Who, when he dies, his tomb might be the bush 
Where harmless robin resteth with the thrush : 
— Happy were he ! 

Robert Dcvereux, Earl of Essex 



72 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

84 SAINT JOHN BAPTIST 

The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, 
Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, 
Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, 
Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. 
His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, 
With honey that from virgin hives distill'd. 
Parch 'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing 
Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. 
There burst he forth : ' ' All ye whose hopes rely 
On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn, 
Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!" 
— Who listen 'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? 
Only the echoes, which he made relent. 
Rung from their flinty caves, ''Repent! Repent!" 

William Drummond 



BOOK TWO 

85 

ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY 

This is the month, and this the happy morn 
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King, 
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, 
Our great redemption from above did bring; 
For so the holy sages once did sing 
That He our deadly forfeit should release. 
And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. 

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable. 

And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty 

Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high council-table 

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 

He laid aside ; and, here with us to be, 

Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. 

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 
Afford a present to the Infant God? 
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain 
To welcome Him to this His new abode, 
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod. 
Hath took no print of the approaching light, 
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons 
bright? 

See how from far, upon the eastern road. 
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet : 

73 



74 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

O, run, prevent them with thy humble ode 

And lay it lowly at His blessed feet ; 

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, 

And join thy voice unto the Angel quire, 

From out His secret altar touch 'd with hallow 'd fire. 

The IJynm 

It was the winter wild 

While the heaven-born Child 

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; 

Nature in awe to Him 

Had doff'd her gaudy trim, 

With her great Master so to sympathize: 

It was no season then for her 

To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. 

Only with speeches fair 

She woes the gentle air 

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow. 

And on her naked shame. 

Pollute with sinful blame. 

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; 

Confounded, that her Maker's eyes 

Should look so near upon her foul deformities. 

But He, her fears to cease, 

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; 

She, crown 'd with olive green, came softly sliding 

Down through the turning sphere. 

His ready harbinger. 

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; 

And waving wide her myrtle wand. 

She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 



JOHN MILTON 75 

No war, or battle's sound 

Was heard the world around: 

The idle spear and shield were high uphung ; 

The hooked chariot stood 

Unstain 'd with hostile blood ; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; 

And kings sat still with awful eye, 

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 

But peaceful was the night 

Wherein the Prince of Light 

His reign of peace upon the earth began : 

The winds, with wonder whist 

Smoothly the waters kist, 

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, 

Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 

The stars, with deep amaze. 

Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, 

Bending one way their precious influence; 

And will not take their flight 

For all the morning light. 

Or Lucifer that often warn 'd them thence ; 

But in their glimmering orbs did glow 

Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go. 

And though the shady gloom 

Had given day her room, 

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed. 

And hid his head for shame, 

As his inferior flame 

The new-enlight'd world no more should need; 

He saw a greater Sun appear 

Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. 



76 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The shepherds on the lawn 

Or ere the point of dawn 

Sate simply chatting in a rustic row; 

Full little thought they than 

That the mighty Pan 

Was kindly come to live with them below; 

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep 

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep : — 

When such music sweet 

Their hearts and ears did greet 

As never was by mortal finger strook — 

Divinely-warbled voice 

Answering the stringed noise, 

As all their souls in blissful rapture took ; 

The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 

Nature, that heard such sound 

Beneath the hollow round 

Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, 

Now was almost won 

To think her part was done, 

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; 

She knew such harmony alone 

Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. 

At last surrounds their sight 

A globe of circular light 

That with long beams the shamefaced night array 'd; 

The helmed Cherubim 

And sworded Seraphim 

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display 'd, 

Harping in loud and solemn quire 

With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir. 



JOHN MILTON 77 

Such music, as 'tis said, 

Before was never made 

But when of old the Sons of Morning simg, 

While the Creator great 

His constellations set 

And the well-balanced world on hinges hung 

And cast the dark foundations deep, 

And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. 

Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! 

Once bless our human ears, 

If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 

And let your silver chime 

Move in melodious time; 

And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow; 

And with your ninefold harmony 

Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. 

For if such holy song 

Enwrap our fancy long, 

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; 

And speckled Vanity 

Will sicken soon and die. 

And leprous Sin will melt from earthy mould; 

And Hell itself will pass away. 

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 

Yea, Truth and Justice then 

Will down return to men, 

Orb 'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, 

Mercy will sit between 

Throned in celestial sheen, 

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down-steering ; 

And Heaven, as at some festival. 

Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. 



78 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

But wisest Fate says No ; 
This must not yet be so ; 
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy, 
That on the bitter cross 
Must redeem our loss, 
So both Himself and us to glorify : 
Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep 
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the 
deep, 

With such a horrid clang 
As on Mount Sinai rang 

While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : 
The aged Earth aghast 
With terror of that blast 
Shall from the surface to the centre shake. 
When, at the world's last session, 
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His 
throne. 

And then at last our bliss 

Full and perfect is, 

But now begins; for from this happy day 

The old Dragon under ground, 

In straiter limits bound, 

Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; 

And, wroth to see his kingdom fail. 

Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 

The Oracles are dumb; 

No voice or hideous hum 

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving ; 

Apollo from his shrine 

Can no more divine, 



JOHN MILTON 79 

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : 

No nightly trance or breathed spell 

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 

The lonely mountains o'er 

And the resounding shore 

A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; 

From haunted spring and dale 

Edged with poplar pale 

The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; 

"With flower-inwoven tresses torn 

The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 

In consecrated earth 

And on the holy hearth 

The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; 

In urns and altars round 

A drear and dying round 

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; 

And the chill marble seems to sweat, 

While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. 

Peor and Baalim 
Forsake their temples dim, 
With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; 
And mooned Ashtaroth 
Heaven's queen and mother both, 
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; 
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn: 
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz 
mourn. 

And sullen Moloch, fled. 
Hath left in shadows dread 



80 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

His burning idol all of blackest hue; 

In vain with cymbals' ring 

They call tjie grisly king, 

In dismal dance about the furnace blue; 

The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 

Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. 

Nor is Osiris seen 

In Memphian grove, or green, 

Trampling the unshower 'd grass with lowings loud ; 

Nor can he be at rest 

Within his sacred chest ; 

Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; 

In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark 

The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. 

He feels from Juda's land 

The dreaded Infant's hand; 

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; 

Nor all the gods beside 

Longer dare abide. 

Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine : 

Our Babe, to show His Godhead true. 

Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew. 

So, when the sun in bed 
Curtain 'd with cloudy red 
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
The flocking shadows pale 
Troop to the infernal jail, 
Each fetter 'd ghost slips to his several grave; 
And the yellow-skirted fays 

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved 
maze. 



JOHN MILTON 81 

But see ! the Virgin blest 

H?ith laid her Babe to rest ; 

Time is our tedious song should here have ending: 

Heaven's youngest-teemed star 

Hath fix'd her polish 'd car, 

Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending; 

And all about the courtly stable 

Bright-harness 'd Angels sit in order serviceable. 

John Milton 



86 SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 

This universal frame began. 
"When Nature underneath a heap 

Of jarring atoms lay 
And could not heave her head, 
The tuneful voice was heard from high: 

''Arise, ye more than dead!" 
Then cold and hot and moist and dry 
In order to their stations leap, 

And Music's power obey. 
From harmony, from heavenly harmony 

This universal frame began : 

From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran. 
The diapason closing full in Man. 

What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 
When Jubal struck the chorded shell, 
His listening brethren stood around, 
And, wondering, on their faces fell 
To worship that celestial sound. 



32 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Less than a god they thought there could not dwell 
Within the hollow of that shell 
That spoke so sweetly and so well. 

What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 

The trumpet's loud clangor 

Excites us to arms, 
With shrill notes of anger 

And mortal alarms. 
The double double double beat 

Of the thundering drum 

Cries ' ' Hark ! the foes come ; 
Charge! charge! 'tis too late to retreat!" 

The soft complaining flute 
In dying notes discovers 
The woes of hopeless lovers, 
Whose dirge is whisper 'd by the warbling lute. 

Sharp violins proclaim 
Their jealous pangs and desperation, 
Fury, frantic indignation, 
Depth of pains, and height of passion 
For the fair disdainful dame. 

But oh! what art can teach. 
What human voice can reach 

The sacred organ's praise? 
Notes inspiring holy love. 
Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
To mend the choirs above. 

Orpheus could lead the savage race, 
And trees unrooted left their place 
Sequacious of the lyre: 



JOHN DRYDEN 83 

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : 
When to her Organ vocal breath was given, 
An Angel heard, and straight appear 'd — 
Mistaking Earth for Heaven. 

GRAND CHORUS 

As from the power of sacred lays 

The spheres began to move, 
And sung the great Creator's praise 

To all the blest above; 
So, when the last and dreadful hour 
This crumbling pageant shall devour. 
The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
The dead shall live, the living die. 
And Music shall untune the sky. 

John Dry den 



87 ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT 

Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter 'd saints, whose bones 
Lie scatter 'd on the Alpine mountains cold; 
Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old 
When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, 
Forget not : in Thy book record their groans 
Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that roll'd 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
To Heaven. Their martyr 'd blood and ashes sow 
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 
The triple T^^rant: that from these may grow 
A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way, 
Early may fly the Babylonian woe. John Milton 



34 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

88* 

HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN 
FROM IRELAND 

The forward youth that would appear, 
Must now forsake his Muses dear, 

Nor in the shadows sing 

His numbers languishing. 

'Tis time to leave the books in dust, 
And oil the unused armour's rust. 

Removing from the wall 

The corslet of the hall. 

So restless Cromwell could not cease 
In the inglorious arts of peace, 

But through adventurous war 

Urged his active star: 

And like the three-fork 'd lightning, first 
Breaking the clouds where it was nurst. 

Did through his own side 

His fiery way divide : 

For 'tis all one to courage high, 
The emulous, or enemy ; 

And with such, to enclose 

Is more than to oppose; 

An poems marked with a star (*) are left unannotated. 
These are not to be omitted, but are to be taken up by the 
student without the assistance which the notes give in the study 
of the other poems. In general, the method of study should be 
the one used throughout this book, though, of course, variations 
are to be made to fit the structure and nature of any particular 
poem. 



ANDREW MARVELL §5 

Then burning through the air he went 
And palaces and temples rent; 

And Caesar's head at last 

Did through his laurels blast. 

'Tis madness to resist or blame 
The face of angry heaven's flame; 

And if we would speak true, 

Much to the Man is due 

Who, from his private gardens, where 
He lived reserved and austere, 

(As if his highest plot 

To plant the bergamot,) 

Could by industrious valour climb 
To ruin the great work of time, 
And cast the Kingdoms old 
Into another mould; 

Though Justice against Fate complain. 
And plead the ancient Rights in vain — 

But those do hold or break 

As men are strong or weak; 

Nature, that hateth emptiness. 
Allows of pentration less, 

And therefore must make room 

Where greater spirits come. 

What field of all the civil war 
Where his were not the deepest scar? 

And Hampton shows what part 

He had of wiser art. 



gg THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 
He wove a net of such a scope 

That Charles himself might chase 
To Carisbrook's narrow case. 

That thence the Koyal actor borne 
The tragic scaffold might adorn: 
While round the armed bands 
Did clap their bloody hands. 

He nothing common did or mean 
Upon that memorable scene, 
But with his keener eye 
The axe's edge did try; 

Nor caird the Gods, with vulgar spite, 
To vindicate his helpless right; 

But bow'd his comely head 

Down, as upon a bed. 

— This was that memorable hour 
Which first assured the forced power: 
So when they did design 
The Capitol's first line, 

A Bleeding Head, where they begun, 
Did fright the architects to run; 
And yet in that the State 
Foresaw its happy fate ! 

And now the Irish are ashamed 
To see themselves in one year tamed ; 
So much one man can do 
That does both act and know. 



ANDREW MARVELL g? 

. They can affirm his praises best, 
And have, though overcome, confest 
How good he is, how just 
And fit for highest trust. 

Nor yet grown stiffer with command, 
But still in the Republic's hand — 

How fit he is to sway 

That can so well obey ! 

He to the Commons' feet presents 
A Kingdom for his first year's rents, 

And (what he may) forbears 

His fame, to make it theirs: 

And has his sword and spoils ungirt 
To lay them at the Public's skirt. 

So when the falcon high 

Falls heavy from the sky, 

She, having kill'd, no more doth search 
But on the next green bough to perch, 

Where, when he first does lure. 

The falconer has her sure. 

— What may not then our Isle presume 
While victory his crest does plume ? 

What may not others fear 

If thus he crowns each year? 

As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, 
To Italy an Hannibal, 

And to all States not free 

Shall climacteric be. 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The Pict no shelter now* shall find 
Within his parti-colour 'd mind, 
But from this valour sad 
Shrink underneath the plaid — 

Happy, if in the tufted brake 
The English hunter him mistake. 

Nor lay his hounds in near 

The Caledonian deer. 

But Thou, the War's and Fortune's son 

March indefatigably on; 
And for the last effect 
Still keep the sword erect. 

Besides the force it has to fright 
The spirits of the shady night. 
The same arts that did gain 
A power, must it maintain. 

Andrew Marvell 



89 LYCIDAS 

Elegy on a Friend drowned in the Irish Channel 1637 

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 

Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 

And with forced fingers rude 

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 

Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 

Compels me to disturb your season due: 

For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 

Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 



JOHN MILTON 89 

"Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
He must not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well 
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring ; 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : — 
So may some gentle Muse 
With lucky words favour my destined urn, 
And as he passes, turn 
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 

For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, • 
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill; 
Together both, ere the high lawns appear 'd 
Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, 
We drove a-field, and both together heard 
What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn, 
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, 
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel, 
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute. 
Temper 'd to the oaten flute ; 

Kough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 
From the glad sound would not be absent long ; 
And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 

But, oh ! the heavy change, now thou art gone. 
Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 
Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves 
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 



90 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And all their echoes, mourn: 

The willows and the hazel copses green 

Shall now no more be seen 

Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 

As killing as the canker to the rose, 

Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, 

Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear 

When first the white-thorn blows: 

Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 
Closed 'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 
For neither were ye playing on the steep 
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie. 
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. 
Ay me ! I fondly dream — 

Had ye been there — For what could that have done ? 
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son. 
Whom universal nature did lament, 
When by the rout that made the hideous roar 
His gory visage dow^n the stream was sent, 
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? 

Alas ! what boots it with incessant care 
To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade 
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? 
Were it not better done, as others use, 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? 
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
(That last infirmity of noble mind) 
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 



JOHN MILTON 91 

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 

And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 

Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears 

And slits the thin-spun life. ' ' But not the praise, 

Phoebus replied, and touch 'd my trembling ears; ^ 

''Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 

Nor in the glistering foil 

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies ; 

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 

And perfect witness of all-judging Jove. 

As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 

Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." 

fountain Arethuse, and thou honour 'd flood 
Smooth-sliding INIincius, crown 'd with vocal reeds, 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood. 
But now my oat proceeds, 
And listens to the herald of the sea 
That came in Neptune's plea. 
He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds. 
What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain. 
And question 'd every gust of rugged wings 
That blows from off each beaked promontory. 
They knew not of his story ; 
And sage Hippotades their answer brings : 
That not a blast was from his dungeon stray 'd; 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd.— 
It was that fatal and perfidious bark 
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark. 
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 

Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge 



92 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 

Like to that sanguine liower inscribed with woe. 

"Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge!" 

Last came, and last did go 

The Pilot of the Galilean lake. 

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). 

He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: 

"How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, 

Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake 

Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! 

Of other care they little reckoning make 

Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, 

And shove away the worthy bidden guest. 

Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to hold 

A sheep-hook, or have learn 'd aught else the least 

That to the faithful herdman 's art belongs ! 

What recks it them ? What need they ? They are sped ; 

And when they list, their lean and flashy songs 

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; 

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed. 

But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw 

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: 

Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 

Daily devours apace, and nothing said: 

— But that two-handed engine at the door 

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." 

Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past 
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, 
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks 



JOHN MILTON 93 

On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, 

Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes 

That on the green turf suck the honey 'd showers 

And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 

The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 

The white pink, and the pansy freak 'd with jet, 

The glowing violet, 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine. 

With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. 

And every flower that sad embroidery wears: 

Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 

And daffadillies fill their cups with tears 

To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies — 

For so to interpose a little ease. 

Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise: 

Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 

Wash far away, — where'er thy bones are hurl'd. 

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides 

Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, 

Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world; 

Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 

Sleep 'st by the fable of Bellerus old. 

Where the great Vision of the guarded mount 

Looks tow ard Namancos and Bayona 's hold ; 

— Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth: 

— And, ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! 

Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more; 
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. 
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor: 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean -bed, 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head 
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 



94 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky. 

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, 

Through the dear might of Him that walk 'd the waves ; 

Where, other groves and other streams along, 

With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves. 

And hears the unexpressive nuptial song 

In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 

There entertain him all the Saints above 

In solemn troops, and sweet societies. 

That sing, and singing, in their glory move, 

And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. 

Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 

Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore 

In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 

To all that wander in that perilous flood. 

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, 
While the still morn went out with sandals gray. 
He touched the tender stops of various quills. 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay. 
And now the sun had stretch 'd out all the hills. 
And now was dropt into the western bay; 
At last he rose, and twitch 'd his mantle blue: 
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 

John Milton 

90 

ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

Mortality, behold and fear ! 

What a change of flesh is here ! 

Think how many royal bones 

Sleep within these heaps of stones. 

Here they lie, had realms and lands, 

Who now want strength to stir their hands. 



FRANCIS BEAUMONT 95 

Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust 

They preach, ''In greatness is no trust." 

Here's an acre sown indeed 

With the richest royallest seed 

That the earth did e'er suck in 

Since the first man died for sin. 

Here the bones of birth have cried : 

' ' Though gods they were, as men they died ! ' ' 

Here are sands, ignoble things, 

Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings. 

Here's a world of pomp and state 

Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 

Francis Beaumont 



91* THE LAST CONQUEROR • 

Victorious men of earth, no more 

Proclaim how wide your empires are; 

Though you bind-in every shore 
And your triumphs reach as far 

As night or day. 
Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey 

And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 

Death calls ye to the crowed of common men. 

Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, 

Each able to undo mankind. 
Death's servile emissaries are; 
Nor to these alone confined, 

He hath at will 
More quaint and subtle ways to kill; 
A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 

James Shirley 



96 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

92 DEATH THE LEVELLER 

The glories of our blood and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things; 
There is no armour against fate ; 

Death lays his icy hand on kings: 
Sceptre and Crown 
Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 

And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
They tame but one another still: 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate. 
And must give up their murmuring breath 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brow; 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
Upon Death's purple altar now 

See where the victor-victim bleeds: 
Your heads must come 
To the cold tomb; 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 

James Shirley 

93 WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED 

TO THE CITY 

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, 

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, 

If deed of honour did thee ever please, 



JOHN MILTON 97 

Guard them, and him within protect from harms. 

He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms 

That call fame on such gentle acts as these, 

And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas 

Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. 

Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: 

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 

The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 

Went to the ground ; and the repeated air 

Of sad Electra's poet had the power 

To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 

John Milton 

94 ON HIS BLINDNESS 

When I consider how my light is spent 

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 

And that one talent which is death to hide 

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 

My true account, lest He returning chide, — 

''Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" 

I fondly ask: — But Patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies : ' ' God doth not need 

Either man's work, or His own gifts: who best 

Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best ; His state 

Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed 

And post 'er land and ocean without rest : — 

They also serve who only stand and wait." 

John Milton 

95* CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 

How happy is he born and taught 
That serveth not another's will, 



98 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Whose armour is his honest thought 
And simple truth his utmost skill ! 

Whose passions not his masters are, 
Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Untied unto the world by care 
Of public fame, or private breath; 

Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
Nor vice ; who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

Who hath his life from rumours freed. 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat, 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make oppressors great ; 

Who God doth late and early pray 
More of His grace than gifts to lend, 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a religious book or friend; 

— This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
Lord of himself, though not of lands; 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 

Sir Henry Wotton 

96* THE NOBLE NATURE 

It is not growing like a tree 
In bulk, doth make Man better be; 
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 



BEN JONSON 99 

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: 
A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night — 
It was the plant and flower of Light. 
In small proportions we just beauties see ; 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 

Ben Jonson 

97 THE GIFTS OF GOD 

When God at first made IMan, 
Having a glass of blessings standing by, 
''Let us," said He, ''pour on him all Ave can; 
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. 

Contract into a span." 

So strength first made a way; 
Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure. 
When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
Perceiving that alone, of all His treasure. 

Rest in the bottom lay. 

"For if I should," said He, 
"Bestow this jewel also on My creature. 
He would adore My gifts instead of IMe, 
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature : 

So both should losers be. 

"Yet let him keep the rest. 
But keep them with repining restlessness; 
Let him be rich and weary, that at least, 
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 

May toss him to I\Iy breast." 

George Herbert 



^00 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

98 THE RETREAT 

Happy those early days, when I 
Shined in my Angel-infancy! 
Before I understood this place 
Appointed for my second race, 
Or taught my soul to fancy aught 
But a white, celestial thought; 
When yet I had not walk'd above 
A mile or two from my first Love, 
And looking back, at that short space 
Could see a glimpse of His bright face ; 
When on some gilded cloud or flower 
My gazing soul would dwell an hour, 
And in those weaker glories spy 
Some shadows of eternity; 
Before I taught my tongue to wound 
My conscience with a sinful sound. 
Or had the black art to dispense 
A several sin to every sense. 
But felt through all this fleshly dress 
Bright shoots of everlastingness. 

how I long to travel back, 
And tread again that ancient track ! 
That I might once more reach that plain 
Where first I left my glorious train ; 
From whence th' enlighten 'd spirit sees 
That shady City of palm trees! 
But ah ! my soul with too much stay 
Is drunk, and staggers in the way: — 
Some men a forward motion love. 
But I by backward steps would move ; 



JOHN MILTON 101 

And when this dust falls to the urn, 
In that state I came, return. 

Henry Vaughan 



99 TO MR. LAWRENCE 

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, 
Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire, 
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire 
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won 
From the hard season gaining? Time will run 
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire 
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire 
The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. 
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, 
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 
To hear the lute well touch 'd, or artful voice 
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? 
He who of those delights can judge, and spare 
To interpose them oft, is not unwise. 

John Milton 



100 TO CYRIACK SKINNER 

Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 
Of British Themis, with no mean applause 
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws. 
Which others at their bar so often wrench, 
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 
In mirth, that after no repenting draws ; ' 
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, 
And what the Swede intend, and what the French. 



102 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way, 
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, 
And disapproves that care, though wise in show, 
That with superfluous burden loads the day. 
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. 

John Milton 



101* A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE 

Of Neptune's empire let us sing. 
At whose command the waves obey; 
To whom the rivers tribute pay, 

Down the high mountains sliding; 
To whom the scaly nation yields 
Homage for the crystal fields 

Wherein they dwell, 
And every sea-god pays a gem 
Yearly out of his watery cell. 
To deck great Neptune's diadem. 

The Tritons, dancing in a ring 
Before his palace gates, do make 
The water with their echoes quake. 

Like the great thunder sounding: 
The sea-n3^mphs chaunt their accents shrill. 
And the Syrens taught to kill 

With their sweet voice. 
Make every echoing rock reply, 
Unto their gentle murmuring noise, 
The praise of Neptune's empery. 

Thomas Campion 



BEN JONSON 103 

102* HYMN TO DIANA 

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, 

Now the sun is laid to sleep. 
Seated in thy silver chair, 

State in wonted manner keep: 
Hesperus entreats thy light, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade 

Dare itself to interpose; 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 

Heaven to clear when day did close : 
Bless us then with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart 

And thy crystal shining quiver ; 
Give unto the flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short s.oever: 
Thou that mak'st a day of night, 
Goddess excellently bright! 

Ben Jonson 

103 

WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS 

Whoe'er she be, 

That not impossible She 

That shall command my heart and me; 

Where'er she lie, 

Lock'd up from mortal eye 

In shady leaves of destiny ; 



104 THE GOLDEN TREASUKY 

Till that ripe birth 

Of studied Fate stand forth 

And teach her fair steps tread our earth; 

Till that divine 

Idea take a shrine 

Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : 

— Meet you her, my Wishes, 

Bespeak her to my blisses. 

And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. 

I wish her beauty 

That owes not all its duty 

To gaudy tire, or glist 'ring shoe-tie : 

Something more than 
Taffata or tissue can. 
Or rampant feather, or rich fan. 

A face that's best 

By its own beauty drest. 

And can alone commend the rest: 

A face made up 

Out of no other shop 

Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 

Sidneian showers 

Of sweet discourse, whose powers 

Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. 

Whate'er delight 

Can make day's forehead bright 

Or give down to the wings of night: 



RICHARD CRASHAW 105 

Soft, silken hours, 

Open suns, shady bowers; 

'Bove all, nothing within that lowers; 

Days that need borrow 

No part of their good morrow 

From a fore-spent night of sorrow: 

Days, that in spite 

Of darkness, by the light 

Of a clear mind are day all night. 

Life, that dares send 

A challenge to his end, 

And when it comes, say, ''Welcome, friend.'' 

I wish her store 

Of worth may leave her poor 

Of wishes; and I wish — no more. 

Now, if Time knows 

That Her, whose radiant brows 

Weave them a garland of my vows; 

Her that dares be 

What these lines wish to see: 

I seek no further, it is She. 

'Tis She, and here 

Lo! I unclothe and clear 

My wishes' cloudy character: 

Such worth as this is 
Shall fix my flying wishes. 
And determine them to kisses. 



106 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Let her full glory, 

My fancies, fly before ye; 

Be ye my fictions : — but her story. 

lUchard Crashaw 



104* THE GREAT ADVENTURER 

Over the mountains 

And over the waves. 

Under the fountains 

And under the graves ; 

Under the floods that are deepest, 

"Which Neptune obey ; 

Over rocks that are steepest 

Love will find out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to lie ; 

Where there is no space 

For receipt of a fly; 

Where the midge dares not venture 

Lest herself fast she lay; 

If love come, he will enter 

And soon find out his way. 

You may esteem him 

A child for his might; 

Or you may deem him 

A coward from his flight ; 

But if she whom love doth honour 

Be concealed from the day, 

Set a thousand guards upon her. 

Love will find out the way. 



UNKNOWN 107 

Some think to lose him 
By having him confined; 
And some do suppose him, 
Poor thing, to be blind; 
But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 
Do the best that you may. 
Blind love, if so ye call him. 
Will find out his way. 

You may train the eagle 

To stoop to your fist; 

Or you may inveigle 

The phoenix of the east; 

The lioness, ye may move her 

To give o 'er her prey ; 

But you'll ne'er stop a lover: 

He will find out his way. 

Unknown 

105 

THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T. C. IN A PROSPECT 
OF FLOWERS 

See with what simplicity 
This nymph begins her golden days: 
In the green grass she loves to lie, 
And there with her fair aspect tames 
The wilder flowers, and gives them names ; 
But only with the roses plays, 

And them does tell 
What colours best become them, and what smell. 

Who can fortell for what high cause 
This darling of the Gods was born? 



108 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Yet this is she whose chaster laws 
The wanton Love shall one day fear, 
And, under her command severe. 
See his bow broke, and ensigns torn. 
Happy who can 
Appease this virtuous enemy of man ! 

O then let me in time compound 
And parley with those conquering eyes. 
Ere they have tried their force to w^ound ; 
Ere with their glancing wheels they drive 
In triumph over hearts that strive. 
And them that yield but more despise : 
Let me be laid, 
Where I may see the glories from some shade. 

Meantime, whilst every verdant thing 
Itself does at thy beauty charm, 
Eeform the errors of the Spring: 
Make that the tulips may have share 
Of sweetness, seeing they are fair ; 
And roses of their thorns disarm; 
But most procure 
That violets may a longer age endure. 

But young beauty of the woods, 
Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, 
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds ; 
Lest Flora, angry at thy crime 
To kill her infants in their prime. 
Should quickly make th ' example yours ; 
And ere we see — 
Nip in the blossom — all our hopes and thee. 

Andrew Marvell 



SIR CHARLES SEDLEY 109 

106 CHILD AND MAIDEN 

Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit 

As unconcern 'd as when 
Your infant beauty could beget 

No happiness or pain! 
When I the dawn used to admire, 

And praised the coming day, 
I little thought the rising fire 

Would take my rest away. 

Your charms in harmless childhood lay 

Like metals in a mine ; 
Age from no face takes more away 

Than youth conceal 'd in thine. 
But as your charms insensibly 

To their perfection prest, 
So love as unperceived did fly, 

And center 'd in my breast. 

My passion with your beauty grew. 

While Cupid at my heart, 
Still as his mother favour 'd you, 

Threw a new flaming dart : 
Each gloried in their wanton part; 

To make a lover, he 
Employ 'd the utmost of his art — 

To make a beauty, she. 

Sir Charles Sedley 

107* CONSTANCY 

I cannot change, as others do. 
Though you unjustly scorn, 
Since that poor swain that sighs for you, 



110 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

For you alone was born: 
No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move 

A surer way I'll try, — 
And to revenge my slighted love, 

Will still love on, and die. 

When, kill'd with grief, Amintas lies, 

And you to mind shall call 
The sighs that now unpitied rise. 

The tears that vainly fall ; 
That welcome hour that ends his smart 

Will then begin your pain, 
For such a faithful tender heart 

Can never break in vain. 

John Wilmot, Earl of Eocliester 

108* COUNSEL TO GIRLS 

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 

Old Time is still a-flying; 
And this same flower that smiles to-day. 

To-morrow will be dying. 

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 

The higher he's a-getting 
The sooner will his race be run, 

And nearer he's to setting. 

That age is best which is the first. 
When youth and blood are warmer; 

But being spent, the worse, and worst 
Times, still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time ; 
And while ye may, go marry ; 



ROBERT HERRICK HI 

For having lost but once your prime, 
You may for ever tarry. 

Bohert Herrick 

109 

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS 

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind. 

That from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, 

To war and arms I fly. 

True, a new mistress now I chase. 

The first foe in the field; 
And with a stronger faith embrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such 

As you too shall adore : 
I could not love thee, Dear, so much, 

Loved I not Honour more. 

Richard Lovelace 



110* ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA 

You meaner beauties of the night, 

That poorly satisfy our eyes 
More by your number than your light. 

You common people of the skies, — 
What are you, when the Moon shall rise? 

You curious chanters of the wood 

That warble forth dame Nature's lays. 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents — what's your praise 

When Philomel her voice doth raise? 



112 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

You violets that first appear, 
By your pure purple mantles known, 

Like the proud virgins of the year. 

As if the spring were all your own, — 

What are you, when the Rose is blown? 

So when my Mistress shall be seen 
In form and beauty of her mind, 

By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 
Tell me, if she were not design 'd 

Th' eclipse and glory of her kind? 

Sir Henry Wotton 

111 TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY 

Daughter to that good Earl, once President 
Of England's Council and her Treasury, 
Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, 
And left them both, more in himself content. 
Till the sad breaking of that Parliament 
Broke him, as that dishonest victory 
At Chaeroneia, fatal to liberty, 
Kill'd with report that old man eloquent; — 
Though later born than to have known the days 
Wherein your father flourish 'd, yet by you, 
Madam, methinks I see him living yet: 
So well your words his noble virtues praise, 
That all both judge you to relate them true. 
And to possess them, honour 'd Margaret. 

John Milton 

112* THE TRUE BEAUTY 

He that loves a rosy cheek 
Or a coral lip admires. 



THOMAS CAREW 113 

Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires; 
As old Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires. 

Hearts with equal love combined. 
Kindle never-dying fires. 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 

Thomas Carew 

113 TO DIANEME 

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 
Which star-like sparkle in their skies; 
Nor be you proud, that you can see 
All hearts your captives — yours, yet free; 
Be you not proud of that rich hair 
Which wantons with the lovesick air: — 
Whenas that ruby which you wear. 
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, 
Will last to be a precious stone 
When all your world of beauty's gone. 

Bohert Herrick 

114* Love in thy youth, fair Maid ; be wise ; 
Old Time will make thee colder ; 
And though each morning new arise, 
Yet we each day grow older. 

Thou as Heaven art fair and young. 
Thine eyes like twin stars shining, 

But ere another day be sprung 
All these will be declining. 



114 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Then winter comes with all his fears, 
And all thy sweets shall borrow; 

Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,- 
And I too late shall sorrow ! 

Unknown 

115 Go, lovely Rose ! 

Tell her, that wastes her time and me, 

That now she knows, 
When I resemble her to thee. 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her, that's young 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadst thou sprung 
In deserts where no men abide, 
Thou must have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired. 

Bid her come forth. 
Suffer herself to be desired, 
And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die! that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee: 
How small a part of time they share 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair! 
Edmund Waller 



116* TO CELIA 

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
And I will pledge with mine; 



BEN JONSON 115 

Or leave a kiss but in the cup 

And I'll not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honouring thee 
As giving it a hope, that there 

It could not wither 'd be; 
But thou thereon didst only breathe 

And sent'st it back to me; 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself but thee ! 

Ben Jonson 

117 CHERRY-RIPE 

There is a garden in her face 

Where roses and white lilies blow; 

A heavenly paradise is that place. 
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; 

There cherries grow that none may buy, 

Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 

Those cherries fairly do enclose 

Of orient pearl a double row. 
Which when her lovely laughter shows. 

They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow; 
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy. 
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 

Her eyes like angels watch them still; 
Her brows like bended bows do standi 



llg THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Threat 'ning with piercing frowns to kill 

All that approach with eye or hand 
These sacred cherries to come nigh, 
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry! 

Unknown 



118 CORINNA'S MAYING 

Get up, get up for shame ! The blooming morn 
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
See how Aurora throws her fair 
Fresh-quilted colours through the air. 
Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see 
The dew bespangling herb and tree. 
Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east. 
Above an hour since ; yet you not drest. 
Nay ! not so much as out of bed ? 
When all the birds have matins said. 
And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin. 
Nay, profanation, to keep in, — 
Whenas a thousand virgins on this day. 
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in may. 

Rise ; and put on your foliage, and be seen 
To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green 
And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
For jewels for your gown or hair: 
Fear not; the leaves will strew 
Gems in abundance upon you: 
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept. 
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept: 
Come, and receive them while the light 
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night; 



ROBERT HERRICK 117 

And Titan on tlie eastern hill 

Retires himself, or else stands still 
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying : 
Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. 

Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming, mark 
How each field turns a street; each street a park 

Made green, and trimm'd with trees: see how 

Devotion gives each house a bough 

Or branch : Each porch, each door, ere this, 

An ark, a tabernacle is. 
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, 
As if here were those cooler shades of love. 

Can such delights be in the street, 

And open fields, and we not see't? 

Come, we'll abroad: and let's obey 

The proclamation made for May, 
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; 
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying. 

There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day, 
But is got up, and gone to bring in may. 

A deal of youth, ere this, is come 

Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 

Some have despatch 'd their cakes and cream, 

Before that we have left to dream; 
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, 
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth ; 

Many a green- gown has been given. 

Many a kiss, both odd and even ; 

Many a glance, too, has been sent 

From out the eye. Love's firmament; 
Many a jest told of the keys betraying 
This night, and locks pick 'd:— Yet we're not a Maying. 



118 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

— Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, 
And take the harmless folly of the time ! 

We shall grow old apace, and die 

Before, we know our liberty. 

Our life is short; and our days run 

As fast away as does the sun. 
And as a vapour, or a drop of rain 
Once lost, can ne'er be found again. 

So when or you or I are made 

A fable, song, or fleeting shade. 

All love, all liking, all delight 

Lies drown 'd with us in endless night. 
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, 
Come, my Corinna! come, let's go a Maying. 

Robert Herrick 



119 THE POETRY OF DRESS 

I 

A sweet disorder in the dress 

Kindles in clothes a wantonness: — 

A lawn about the shoulders, thrown 

Into a fine distraction ; 

An erring lace, which here and there 

Enthrals the crimson stomacher; 

A cuff neglectful, and thereby 

Ribbands to flow confusedly; 

A winning wave, deserving note. 

In the tempestuous petticoat; 

A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 

I see a wild civility: — 

Do more bewitch me, than when art 

Is too precise in every part. 

Robert Herrick 



ROBERT HERRICK II9 

II 

120 When, as in silks my Julia goes, 

Then, then, methinks, how sweetly Hows 
That liquefaction of her clothes ! 

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see 
That brave vibration each way free, 
O how that glittering taketh me! 

Robert Her rick 

III 

121* My Love in her attire doth shew her wit, 
It doth so well become her : 
For every season she hath dressings fit, 

For Winter, Spring, and Summer. 
No beauty she doth miss 
When all her robes are on; 
But Beauty's self she is 
When all her robes are gone. 

Unknown 



122* ON A GIRDLE 

That which her slender waist confined 
Shall now my joyful temples bind; 
No monarch but would give his crown 
His arms might do what this has done. 

It was my Heaven 's extremest sphere. 
The pale which held that lovely deer; 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love 
Did all within this circle move. 



120 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

A narrow compass! and yet there 
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair. 
Give me but what this ribband bound, 
Take all the rest the Sun goes round. 

Edmund Waller 



123 A MYSTICAL .ECSTASY 

E 'en like two little, bank-dividing brooks. 

That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, 

And having ranged and search 'd a thousand nooks. 
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, 
Where in a greater current they conjoin: 

So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine. 

E'en so we met; and after long pursuit, 

E'en so we join'd; we both became entire. 

No need for either to renew a suit ; 

For I was flax and He was flames of fire : 
Our firm-united souls did more than twine : 

So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine. 

If all those glittering Monarchs that command 
The servile quarters of this earthly ball. 

Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, 
I would not change my fortunes for them all. 
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin : 

The world's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine. 

Francis Quarles 

124* TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND 
HIM ANY THING 



Bid me to live, and I will live 
Thy Protestant to be; 



ROBERT HERRICK 121 

Or bid me love, and I will give 
A loving heart to thee. 

A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 

A heart as sound and free 
As in the whole world thou canst find, 

That heart I'll give to thee. 

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, 

To honour thy decree; 
Or bid it languish quite away, 

And 't shall do so for thee. 

Bid me to weep, and I will weep 

While I have eyes to see; 
And having none, yet I will keep 

A heart to weep for thee. 

Bid me despair, and I'll despair, 

Under that cypress tree; 
Or bid me die, and I will dare 

E'en Death, to die for thee. 

Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 

The very eyes of me, 
And hast command of every part, 

To live and die for thee. 

Robert Herrick 



125 Love not me for comely grace, 

For my pleasing eye or face, 
Nor for any outward part. 
No, nor for my constant heart, — 



122 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

For those may fail, or turn to ill, 
So thou and I shall sever. 
Keep therefore a true woman's eye, 
And love me still, but know not why — 
So hast thou the same reason stilL 
To dote upon me ever! 

Unknown 



126* Not, Celia, that I juster am 
Or better than the rest; 
For I would change each hour, like them, 
Were not my heart at rest. 

But I am tied to very thee 

By every thought I have ; 
Thy face I only care to see. 

Thy heart I only crave. 

All that in woman is adored 

In thy dear self I find — 
For the whole sex can but afford 

The handsome and the kind. 

Why then should I seek further store, 

And still make love anew? 
When change itself can give no more, 

'Tis easy to be true. 

Sir Charles Sedley 



127 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON 

When Love with uncon fined wings 
Hovers within my gates. 



RICHARD LOVELACE 123 

And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at the grates ; 
When I lie tangled in her hair 

And fetter 'd to her eye, — 
The gods that wanton in the air 

Know no snch liberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round, 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses bound. 

Our hearts with loyal flames; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 

When healths and draughts go free — 
Fishes that tipple in the deep 

Know no such liberty. 

When, like committed linnets, I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 

And glories of my King; 
When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should be, — 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage. 
If I have freedom in my love 

And in my soul am free, 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such liberty. 

Richard Lovelace 



124 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

128 

TO LUCASTA, GOING BEYOND THE SEAS 

If to be absent were to be 
Away from thee, 
Or that when I am gone 
You or I were alone, — 
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. 

But I'll not sigh one blast or gale 
To swell my sail, 
Or pay a tear to 'suage 
The foaming blue-god's rage; 
For whether he will let me pass 
Or no, I'm still as happy as I was. 

Though seas and land betwixt us both, 
Our faith and troth, 
Like separated souls, 
All time and space controls; 
Above the highest sphere we meet 
Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet. 

So then we do anticipate 
Our after-fate, 
And are alive i' the skies, 
If thus our lips and eyes 
Can speak like spirits unconfined 
In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. 

Bichard Lovelace 

129* ENCOURAGEMENTS TO A LOVER 

"Why so pale and wan, fond lover 1 
Prythee, why so pale? 



SIR JOHN SUCKLING 125 

Will, if looking well can't move her, 
Looking ill prevail? 
Prythee, why so pale? 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 

Prythee, why'so mute? 
Will, when speaking w^ell can't win her, 

Saying nothing do't? 

Prythee, why so mute? 

Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move, 

This cannot take her; 
If of herself she will not love, 

Nothing can make her, — 

The D— 1 take her ! 

Sir John Suckling 



130* A SUPPLICATION 

Awake, awake, my Lyre ! 
And tell thy silent master's humble tale 

In sounds that may prevail : 
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire. 

Though so exalted she 

And I so lowly be 
Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. 

Hark, how the strings awake ! 
And, though the moving hand approach not near, 

Themselves with awful fear 
A kind of numerous trembling make. 

Now all thy forces try ; 

Now all thy charms apply; 
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. 



126 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure 
Is useless here, smce thou art only found 

To cure, but not to wound. 
And she to wound, but not to cure. 

Too weak, too, wilt thou prove 

My passion to remove ; 
Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to Love. 

Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre! 
For thou canst never tell my humble tale 
In sounds that will prevail. 
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire; 
All thy vain mirth lay by. 
Bid thy strings silent lie, 
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. 

Abraham Coivley 



131 THE MANLY HEART 

Shall I, wasting in despair, 
Die because a woman's fair? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care 
'Cause another's rosy are? 
Be she fairer than the day 
Or the flowery meads in May — 
If she think not well of me, 
"What care I how fair she be ? 

Shall my silly heart be pined 
'Cause I see a woman kind? 
Or a well disposed nature 



GEORGE WITHER 

Joined with a lovely feature? 

Be she meeker, kinder than 

Turtle-dove or pelican — 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how kind she be? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or her well-deservings known 
Make me quite forget mine o^\ti? 
Be she with that goodness blest 
Which may merit name of Best — 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how good she be? 

'Cause her fortune seems too high, 
Shall I play the fool and die ? 
She that bears a noble mind 
If not outward helps she find. 
Thinks what with them he would do 
Who without them dares her woo; 
And unless that mind I see. 
What care I how great she be? 

Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 
I will ne'er the more despair; 
If she love me, this believe : 
I will die ere she shall grieve. 
If she slight me when I woo, 
I can scorn and let her go; 
For if she be not for me, 
What care I for whom she be? 
George Wither 



127 



128 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

132* MELANCHOLY 

Hence, all you vain delights, 

As short as are the nights 

Wherein you spend your folly: 

There's nought in this life sweet 

If man were wise to see't 

But only melancholy, 

O sweetest Melancholy! 
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
A sigh that piercing mortifies, 
A look that's fasten 'd to the ground, 
A tongue chain 'd up without a sound ! 
Fountain-heads and pathless groves, 
Places which pale passion loves! 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed save bats and owls ! 
A midnight bell, a parting groan ! 
These are the sounds we feed upon: 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley ; 
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 

John Fletcher 



133 FOESAKEN 

waly, waly up the bank 

And waly, waly do\ATi the brae, 
And waly, waly yon burn-side. 

Where I and my Love wont to gae! 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trusty tree; 
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, 
Sae my true Love did lichtly me. 



uni^:nown 

O waly, waly, but love be bonny 

A little time while it is new ; 
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld 

And fades awa' like morning dew. 
O wherefore should I busk my head? 

Or wherefore should I kame my hair? 
For my true Love has me forsook, 

And says he'll never love me mair. 

Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed; 

The sheets shall ne 'er be prest by me ; 
Saint Anton 's well sail be my drink, 

Since my true Love has forsaken me. 
Marti 'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw 

And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 

gentle Death, when wilt thou come? 
For of my life I am wearie. 

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry. 

But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. 
"When we came in by Glasgow town 

"We were a comely sight to see : 
My Love was clad in the black velvet, 

And I myself in cramasie. 

But had I wist, before I kist, 

That love had been sae ill to win, 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd 
And pinn'd it with a siller pin. 

And ! if my young babe were born, 
And set upon the nurse 's knee. 



129 



130 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And I myself were dead and gane, 
And the green grass growing over me ! 

Unknow7i 



134 



Upon my lap my sovereign sits 

And sucks upon my breast ; 

Meantime his love maintains my life 

And gives my sense her rest. 
Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 

When thou hast taken thy repast, 

Repose, my babe, on me ; 

So may thy mother and thy nurse 

Thy cradle also be. 

Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 

I grieve that duty doth not work 

All that my wishing would. 

Because I would not be to thee 

But in the best I should. 

Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 

Yet as I am, and as I may, 

I must and will be thine. 

Though all too little for thy self 

Vouchsafing to be mine. 

Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
Sing lullaby, mine only joy! 

Unlcnoivn 



UNKNOWN 131 

135 FAIR HELEN 

I wish I were where Helen lies ! 

Night and day on me she cries ; 

O that I were where Helen lies 

On fair Kirconnell lea ! 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
And died to succour me ! 

think na but my heart was sair 

When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair ! 

1 laid her down wi' meikle care 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

As I went down the water-side, 
None but my foe to be my guide, 
None but my foe to be my guide, 
On fair Kirconnell lea; 

I lighted down my sword to draw, 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 

For her sake that died for me. 

O Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
I'll make a garland of thy hair 
Shall bind my heart for evermair — 
Until the day I die. 

O that I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 



132 "I'HE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Out of my bed she bids me rise, 

Says, ''Haste and come to me!" 

Helen fair! O Helen chaste! 
If I were with thee, I were blest. 
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

1 wish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
And r in Helen's arms lying. 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

I wish I were where Helen lies! 
Night and day on me she cries; 
And I am weary of the skies, 
Since my Love died for me. 



Unknown 



136 THE TWA CORBIES 

As I was walking all alane, 

I heard twa corbies making a mane ; 

The tane unto the t'other say, 

' ' Where sail we gang and dine today ? ' 

" — In behint yon auld fail dyke, 
I wot there lies a new-slain Knight ; 
And naebody kens that he lies there, 
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. 

''His hound is to the hunting gane, 
His hawk to fetch the wild- fowl hame, 



UNKNOWN 3^33 

His lady's ta'en another mate, 
So we may mak our dinner sweet. 

''Ye '11 sit on his white hause-bane, 
And I'll pick out his bonnie blue een ; 
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair 
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 

''Mony a one for him makes mane, 
But nane sail ken where he is gane ; 
O'er his white banes, when they are bare. 
The wind sail blaw for evermair. ' ' 

Unknown 

137* 

ON THE DEATH OP MR. WILLIAM HERVEY 

It was a dismal and a fearful night, — 

Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling light, 

When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast, 

By something liker death possest. 
My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow, 

And on my soul hung the dull weight 

Of some intolerable fate. 
What bell was that 1 Ah me ! Too much I know ! 

My sweet companion and my gentle peer, 
Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, 
Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan ? 

O thou hast left me all alone ! 
Thy soul and body, when death's agony 

Besieged around thy noble heart, 

Did not with more reluctance part 
Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee. 



134 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, 

Have ye not seen us, walking every day ? 

Was there a tree about which did not know 
The love betwixt us two? 

Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade. 
Or your sad branches thicker join, 
And into darksome shades combine, 

Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid. 

Large was his soul : as large a soul as e 'er 

Submitted to inform a body here; 

High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have, 

But low and humble as his grave : 
So high that all the virtues there did come 

As to the chiefest seat 

Conspicuous, and great; 
So low that for me too it made a room. 

Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught, 
As if for him knowledge had rather sought ; 
Nor did more learning ever crowded lie 

In such a short mortality. 
Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed or writ, 

Still did the notions throng 

About his eloquent tongue ; 
Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit. 

His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, 

Yet never did his God or friends forget ; 

And when deep talk and wisdom came in view. 
Retired, and gave to them their due. 

For the rich help of books he always took, 

Though his own searching mind before 
Was so with notions written o'er 

As if wise Nature had made that her book. 



ABRAHAM COWLEY I35 

With as much zeal, devotion, piety. 
He always lived, as other saints do die. 
Still with his soul severe account he kept, 

Weeping all debts out ere he slept. 
Then down in peace and innocence he lay, 

Like the sun's laborious light. 

Which still in water sets at night, 
Unsullied with his journey of the day. 

Abraham Cowley 

138 FRIENDS IN PARADISE 

They are all gone into the world of light ! 

And I alone sit lingering here ; 
Their very memory is fair and bright. 

And my sad thoughts doth clear. 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast. 

Like stars upon some gloomy grove. 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 
After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory, 

Whose light doth trample on my days : 
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, 
Mere glimmering and decays. 

holy Hope ! and high Humility, 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and you have show'd them me, 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just, 
Shining nowhere, but in the dark : 



236 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 
Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know 

At first sight, if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair well or grove he sings in now, 
That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams 

Call to the soul, when man doth sleep ; 
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes. 
And into glory peep. 

Henry Vaughan 



139 TO BLOSSOMS 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
Why do ye fall so fast ? 
Your date is not so past, 

But you may stay yet here awhile 
To blush and gently smile. 
And go at last. 

What ! were ye born to be 

An hour or half's delight, 
And so to bid good-night? 

'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 

Merely to show your worth, 

And lose you quite. 

But you are lovely leaves, where w^e 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er so brave 



ROBERT HERRICK I37 

• And after they have shown their pride, 
Like you, awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 

Bohcrt Her rich 

140* TO DAFFODILS 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon; 
As yet the early-rising Sun 

Has not attain 'd his noon. 
Stay, stay. 

Until the hasting day 
Has run 

But to the even-song; 
And, having pray'd together, we 

Will go with you along. 

We have short time to stay as you, 

We have as short a Spring; 
As quick a growth to meet decay 
As you, or any thing. 

We die. 
As your hours do, and dry 

Away 
Like to the Summer 's rain ; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew 
Ne'er to be found again. 

Eohert Herrick 

141* THE GIRL DESCRIBES HER FAWN 

With sweetest milk and sugar first 
I it at my own fingers nursed ; 
And as it grew, so every day 



138 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

It wax'd more white and sweet than they. 

It had so sweet a breath ! and oft 

I blush 'd to see its foot more soft 

And white, — shall I say, — than my hand' 

Nay, any lady 's of the land ! 

It is a wondrous thing how fleet 
'Twas on those little silver feet: 
With what a pretty skipping grace 
It oft would challenge me the race; 
And when 't had left me far away, 
'Twould stay, and run again, and stay; 
For it was nimbler much than hinds, 
And trod as if on the four winds. 

I have a garden of my own. 

But so with roses overgrown 

And lilies, that you would it guess 

To be a little wilderness; 

And all the spring-time of the year 

It only loved to be there. 

Among the beds of lilies I 

Have sought it oft, where it should lie ; 

Yet could not, till itself would rise, 

Find it, although before mine eyes ; 

For in the flaxen lilies' shade 

It like a bank of Mlies laid. 

Upon the roses it would feed. 
Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed; 
And then to me 'twould boldly trip. 
And print those roses on my lip. 
But all its chief delight was still 
On roses thus itself to fill. 



ANDREW MARVELL 139 

.Aj^d its pure virgin limbs to fold 
lu whitest sheets of lilies cold. 
Had it lived long, it would have been 
Lilies without, roses within. 

Andreiv Marvell 



142 THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN 

How vainly men themselves amaze 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays, 
And their uncessant labours see 
Crown 'd from some single herb or tree, 
Whose short and narrow-verged shade 
Does prudently their toils upbraid; 
While all the flowers and trees do close 
To weave the garlands of Repose. 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here. 
And Innocence, thy sister dear ! 
Mistaken long, I sought you then 
In busy companies of men. 
Your sacred plants, if here below. 
Only among the plants will grow. 
Society is all but rude 
To this delicious solitude. 

No white nor red was ever seen 

So amorous as this lovely green. 

Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 

Cut in these trees their mistress' name. 

Little, alas, they know or heed 

How far these beauties hers exceed ! 

Fair trees ! wheres'e'er your barks I wound. 

No name shall but your own be found. 



l^Q THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

When we have rmi our passions' heat, 
Love hither makes his best retreat. 
The gods, who mortal beauty chase, 
Still in a tree did end their race : 
Apollo hunted Daphne so. 
Only that she might laurel grow; 
And Pan did after Syrinx speed 
Not as a nymph, but for a reed. 

What wondrous life is this I lead ! 
Ripe apples drop about my head ; 
The luscious clusters of the vine 
Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; 
The nectarine and curious peach 
Into my hands themselves do reach ; 
Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 

Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less 

Withdraws into its happiness : 

The mind, that ocean where each kind 

Does straight its own resemblance find; 

Yet it creates, transcending these. 

Far other worlds, and other seas; 

Annihilating all that's made 

To a green thought in a green shade. 

Here at the fountain's sliding foot 
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 
Casting the body's vest aside 
My soul into the boughs does glide ; 
There like a bird, it sits and sings, 
Then whets and claps its silver wings. 
And, till prepared for longer flight. 
Waves in its plumes the various light. 



ANDREW MARVELL 141 

Such was that happy Garden-state 
While man there walk'd without a mate; 
After a place so pure and sweet, 
What other help could yet be meet ? 
But 'twas beyond a mortal's share 
To wander solitary there : 
Two paradises 'twere in one, 
To live in Paradise alone. 

How well the skilful gardener drew 
Of flowers and herbs this dial new! 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run ; 
And, as it works, th' industrious bee 
Computes its time as well as we. 
How could such sweet and wholesome hours 
Be reckon 'd, but with herbs and flowers? 

Andrew Marvell 



143* FORTUNATI NIMIUM 

Jack and Joan, they think no ill, 

But loving live, and merry still : 

Do their week-day's work, and pray 

Devoutly on the holy-day; 

Skip and trip it on the green. 

And help to choose the Summer Queen; 

Lash out at a country feast 

Their silver penny with the best. 

Well can they judge of nappy ale, 
And tell at large a winter tale ; 
Climb up to the apple loft, 



142 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And turn the crabs till they be soft. 
Tib is all the father's joy. 
And little Tom the mother's boy. 
All their pleasure is, Content, 
And care, to pay their yearly rent. 

Joan can call by name her cows 

And deck her windows with green boughs; 

She can wreaths and tutties make, 

And trim with plums a bridal cake. 

Jack knows what brings gain or loss, 

And his long flail can stoutly toss ; 

Makes the hedge which others break. 

And ever thinks what he doth speak. 

— Now, you courtly dames and knights, 
That study only strange delights, 
Though you scorn the homespun gray, 
And revel in your rich array, 
Though your tongues dissemble deep 
And can your heads from danger keep : — 
Yet, for all your pomp and train, 
Securer lives the silly swain ! 

Thomas Campion 



U4 L 'ALLEGRO 

Hence, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born 
In Stygian cave forlorn 

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights 
unholy ! 
Find out some uncouth cell 



JOHN MILTON 143 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous 
wings 
And the night-raven sings : 

There under ebon shades, and low-brow 'd 
rocks 
As ragged as thy locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 

But come, thou Goddess fair and free, 
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
Whom lovely Venus at a birth. 
With two sister Graces more, 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; 
Or whether, as some sager sing, 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing, 
As he met her once a-Maying — 
There on beds of violets blue 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew 
Fill 'd her with thee, -a daughter fair. 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful jollity. 
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles. 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles. 
Such as hang on Hebe 's cheek. 
And love to live in dimple sleek; 
Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides: — 
Come, and trip it as you go 
On the light fantastic toe ; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty. 



144 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And if I give thee honour due, 

Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 

To live with her, and live with thee 
^^ In unreproved pleasures free ; 

To hear the lark begin his flight 

And singing startle the dull night 

From his watch-tower in the skies, 

Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 

Then to come, in spite of sorrow. 

And at my window bid good-morrow 

Through the sweetbriar, or the vine. 

Or the twisted eglantine ; 

While the cock with lively din 
^^ Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 

And to the stack, or the barn-door, 

Stoutly struts his dames before. 

Oft listening how the hounds and horn 

Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 

From the side of some hoar hill. 

Through the high wood echoing shrill: 

Sometime walking, not unseen, 

By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 

Right against the eastern gate 
^° Where the great Sun begins his state 

Robed in flames and amber light. 

The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 

While the ploughman, near at hand, 

Whistles o'er the furrow 'd land. 

And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 

And the mower whets his scythe. 

And every shepherd tells his tale 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures 
''^ Whilst the landscape round it measures: 



100 



JOHN MILTON 

Russet lawns, and fallows gray, 
Where the nibbling flocks do stray; 
Mountains, on whose barren breast 
The labouring clouds do often rest ; 
Meadows trim, with daisies pied, 
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosom 'd high in tufted trees, 
"Where perhaps some Beauty lies. 
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
From betwixt two aged oaks. 
Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, 
Are at their savoury dinner set 
Of herbs, and other country messes 
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 
And then in haste her bower she leaves 
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
Or, if the earlier season lead, 
To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 

Sometimes with secure delight 
The upland hamlets will invite. 
When the merry bells ring round, 
And the jocund rebecks sound 
To many a youth and many a maid, 
Dancing in the chequer 'd shade; 
And young and old come forth to play 
On a sun-shine holiday. 
Till the live-long day-light fail ; 
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale. 
With stories told of many a feat. 
How Faery Mab the junkets eat :— 
She was pinch 'd and puU'd, she said; 
And he, by Friar 's lantern led ; 



145 



146 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

Tells how tlie drudging Goblin sweat 
To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
His shadowy flail hath thresh 'd the corn 
That ten day-labourers could not end, 

^^° Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 

And, stretch 'd out all the chimney's length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full out of doors he flings. 
Ere the first cock his matin rings. 
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. 
By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep. 

Tower 'd cities please us then 
And the busy hum of men. 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 

120 jj-^ weeds of peace, high triumphs hold. 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace, whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 
In saffron robe, with taper clear, 
And pomp, and feast, and revelry. 
With mask, and antique pageantry ; 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 

^^° On summer eves by haunted stream. 
Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
If Jonson 's learned sock be on. 
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child. 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

And ever against eating cares 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs 
Married to immortal verse. 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce 



JOHN MILTON 147 

In notes, with many a winding bout 

Of linked sweetness long drawn out ; 

With wanton heed and giddy cunning, 

The melting voice through mazes running, 

Untwisting all the chains that tie 

The hidden soul of harmony ; 

That Orpheus' self may heave his head 

From golden slumber, on a bed 

Of heap 'd Elysian flowers, and hear 

Such strains as would have won the ear 

Of Pluto, to have quite set free 

His half-regain 'd Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give, 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 

John Milton 



145 IL PENSEROSO 

Hence, vain deluding Joys, 

The brood of Folly without father bred ! 
How little you bestead 

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! 
Dwell in some idle brain, 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, 
As thick and numberless 

As the gay motes that people the sunbeams. 
Or likest hovering dreams, 
^^ The fickle pensioners of IMorpheus' train. 

But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, 
Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 



148 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

To hit the sense of human sight, 

And therefore to our weaker view 

'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom 's hue : 

Black, but such as in esteem 

Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, 

Or that Starr 'd Ethiop queen that strove 

-^ To set her beauty's praise above 

The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended: 
Thee bright-hair 'd Vesta, long of yore, 
To solitary Saturn bore ; 
His daughter she (in Saturn's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain). 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove, 

^° While yet there was no fear of Jove. 

Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
All in a robe of darkest grain 
Flowing with majestic train, 
And sable stole of Cipres lawn 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn ; 
Come, but keep thy wonted state. 
With even step, and musing gait. 
And looks commercing with the skies, 

40 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: 
There, held in holy passion still, 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad, leaden, downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 



JOHN MILTON 149 

And hears the Muses in a ring 

Aye round about Jove's altar sing. 

And add to these retired Leisure 

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. 

But first and chiefest, with thee bring 

Him that yon soars on golden wing 

Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 

The cherub Contemplation; 

And the mute Silence hist along, 

'Less Philomel will deign a song, 

In her sweetest saddest plight 

Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 

While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 

Gently o'er the accustom 'd oak. 

— Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, 

Most musical, most melancholy! 

Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among 

I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 

And missing thee, I walk unseen 

On the dry smooth-shaven green, 

To behold the wandering Moon 

Riding near her highest noon. 

Like one that had been led astray 

Through the heaven's wide pathless way, 

And oft, as if her head she bow'd, 

Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 

Oft, on a plat of rising ground 
I hear the far-off Curfew sound 
Over some wide-water 'd shore, 
Swinging slow with sullen roar ; 
Or, if the air will not permit. 
Some still removed place will fit, 
Where glowing embers through the room 



150 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

^° Teach light to counterfeit a gloom : 
Far from all resort of mirth, 
Save the cricket on the hearth, 
Or the bellman's drowsy charm 
To bless the doors from nightly harm. 

Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear 
With thrice- great Hermes, or unsphere 
The spirit of Plato, to unfold 

^^ What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The immortal mind, that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshy nook ; 
And of those demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or under ground. 
Whose power hath a true consent 
With planet, or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 
In scepter 'd pall come sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 

^°° Or the tale of Troy divine; 

Or what, though rare, of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskin 'd stage. 

But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Musaeus from his bower, 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek 
And made Hell grant what Love did seek! 
Or call up him that left half-told 

1^'^ The story of Cambuscan bold. 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
And who had Canace to wife 



JOHN MILTON 151 

That own'd the virtuous ring and glass, 
And of the wondrous horse of brass 
On which the Tartar king did ride. 
And if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung 
Of turneys, and of trophies hung, 
Of forests, and enchantments drear. 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career. 
Till civil-suited Morn appear. 
Not trick 'd and frounced as she was wont 
With the Attic Boy to hunt, 
But kercheft in a comely cloud 
While rocking winds are piping loud. 
Or usher 'd with a shower still, 
When the gust hath blown his fill. 
Ending on the rustling leaves 
With minute drops from off the eaves. 
And when the sun begins to fling 
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring 
To arched walks of twilight groves, 
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 
Of pine, or monumental oak. 
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, 
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt 
Or fright them from their hallow 'd haunt. 
There in close covert by some brook. 
Where no profaner eye may look, 
Hide me from day's garish eye, 
While the bee with honey 'd thigh 
That at her flowery work doth sing, 
And the waters murmuring, 
With such consort as they keep. 



]^52 " THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Entice the dewy-feather 'd Sleep ; 

And let some strange mysterious dream 

Wave at his wings in airy stream 

Of lively portraiture display 'd, 
^^° Softly on my eyelids laid; 

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 

Above, about, or underneath, 

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 

Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 
But let my due feet never fail 

To walk the studious cloister's pale, 

And love the high-embowed roof. 

With antique pillars massy proof. 

And storied windows richly dight 
^^^ Casting a dim religious light. 

There let the pealing organ blow 

To the full-voiced quire below 

In service high and anthems clear. 

As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 

Dissolve me into ecstasies. 

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 
And may at last my weary age 

Find out the peaceful hermitage, 

The hairy gown and mossy cell 
^^° Where I may sit and rightly spell 

Of every star that heaven doth shew, 

And every herb that sips the dew ; 

Till old experience do attain 

To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures, Melanchoty, give. 
And I with thee will choose to live. 

John Milton 



ANDREW MARVELL 



153 



146 



SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA 

Where the remote Bermudas ride 
In the ocean 's bosom unespied, 
Prom a small boat that row'd along 
The listening winds received this song : 

''What should we do but sing His praise 
That led us through the watery maze, 
Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks, 
That lift the deep upon their backs, 
Unto an isle so long unknown, 
And yet far kinder than our own ? 
He lands us on a grassy stage. 
Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage: 
He gave us this eternal Spring 
Which here enamels everything, 
And sends the fowls to us in care 
On daily visits through the air. 
He hangs in shades the orange bright 
Like golden lamps in a green night, 
And does in the pomegranates close 
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. 
He makes the figs our mouths to meet 
And throws the melons at our feet ; 
But apples, plants of such a price. 
No tree could ever bear them twice. 
With cedars chosen by His hand 
Prom Lebanon He stores the land; 
And makes the hollow seas that roar 
Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
He cast (of which we rather boast) 
The Gospel's pearl upon our coast; 



154 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And in these roeks for us did frame 
A temple where to sound His name. 
Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt 
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, 
"Which thence, perhaps, rebounding may 
Echo beyond the Mexique bay!" 

Thus sung they in the English boat 
A holy and a cheerful note ; 
And all the way, to guide their chime, 
With falling oars they kept the time, 

Andrciv Marvcll 



147 AT A SOLEMN MUSIC 

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, 
Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse ! 
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ. 
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; 
And to our high-raised phantasy present 
That undisturbed Song of pure concent. 
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour 'd throne 

To Him that sits thereon. 
With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
Their loud uplifted angel- trumpets blow ; 
And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires. 
With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, 

Hymns devout and holy psalms 

Singing everlastingly: 
That we on Earth, with undiscording voice 
May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 



JOHN MILTON I55 

As once we did, till disproportion 'd sin 
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd 
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
In first obedience, and their state of good. 
O may we soon again renew that Song, 
And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
To His celestial consort us unite, 
To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light ! 

John Milton 



148* NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM 

When I survey the bright 
Celestial sphere, 
So rich with jewels hung, that night 
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear, 

My soul her wings doth spread, 
And heaven-ward flies. 
The Almighty's mysteries to read 
In the large volumes of the skies. 

For the bright firmament 
Shoots forth no flame 
So silent but is eloquent 
In speaking the Creator's name. 

No unregarded star 
Contracts its light 
Into so small a character, 
Removed far from our human sight. 



156 



THE GOLDEN TREASLTRY 

But if we steadfast look, 
We shall discern 
In it as in some holy book, 
How man may heavenly knowledge learn. 

It tells the Conqueror, 

That far-stretch 'd power 
Which his proud dangers traffic for 
Is but the triumph of an hour, 

That from the farthest North 
Some nation may. 
Yet undiscover 'd, issue forth, 
And 'er his new-got conquest sway : 

Some nation yet shut in 
With hills of ice, 
May be let out to scourge his sin, 
Till they shall equal him in vice. 

And then they likewise shall 
Their ruin have ; 
For as yourselves your Empires fall, 
And every Kingdom hath a grave. 

Thus those celestial fires. 
Though seeming mute, 
The fallacy of our desires 
And ell the pride of life, confute. 

For they have watch 'd since first 
The world had birth : 
And found sin in itself accursed, 
And nothing permanent on earth. 

William Hahington 



JOHN NORRIS ^ 157 

149* HYMN TO DARKNESS 

Hail thou most sacred venerable thing! 
What Muse is worthy thee to sing ? 
Thee, from whose pregnant universal womb 
All things, ev'n Light, thy rival, first did come. 
What dares he not attempt that sings of thee. 

Thou first and greatest mystery ? 
Who can the secrets of thy essence tell ? 
Thou, like the light of God, art inaccessible. 

Before great Love this monument did raise. 

This ample theatre of praise. 
Before the folding circles of the sky 
Were tuned by Him, Who is all harmony. 
Before the morning Stars their hymn began, 

Before the council held for man. 
Before the birth of either time or place, — 
Thou reign 'st unquestion'd monarch in the empty space. 

Thy iiative lot thou didst to Light resign. 

But still half of the globe is thine. 
Here with a quiet, but yet awful hand. 
Like the best emperors thou dost command. 
To thee the stars above their brightness owe. 

And mortals their repose below ; 
To thy protection fear and sorrow flee. 
And those that weary are of light, find rest in thee. 

John N orris of Bemerton 

150* A VISION 

I saw Eternity the other night. 
Like a great ring of pure and endless light, 
All calm, as it was bright ; 



158 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years. 

Driven by the spheres, 
Like a vast shadow moved, in which the World 

And all her train were hurl'd. 

Henry Vaughan 

151 
ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR, THE POWER OF 
MUSIC 

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son. 
Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 
On his imperial throne ; 
His valiant peers were placed around, 
Their browns with roses and with myrtles bound, 
(So should desert in arms be crown 'd). 
The lovely Thais by his side 
Sate like a blooming Eastern bride 
In flower of youth and beauty 's pride : — 
Happy, happy, happy pair! 
None but the brave 
None but the brave 
None but the brave deserves the fair! 

Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire. 
With flying fingers touch 'd the lyre; 
The trembling notes ascend the sky 
And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove 
Who left his blissful seats above — 
Such is the powder of mighty love I 



JOHN DRYDEN 159 

A dragon's fiery form belied the god; 

Sublime on radiant spires he rode 

When he to fair Olympia prest, 

And while he sought her snowy breast, 

Then round her slender waist he curl'd, 

And stamp 'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the 

world. 
— The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ; 
''A present deity!" they shout around; 
*^A present deity!" the vaulted roofs rebound. 
With ravish 'd ears 
The monarch hears, 
Assumes the god; 
Affects to nod 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, 
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: 
*'The jolly god in triumph comes; 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ! 
Flush 'd with a purple grace 
He shows his honest face : 

Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes, he comes ! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young. 
Drinking joys did first ordain; 
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: 
Eich the treasure. 
Sweet the pleasure. 
Sweet is pleasure after pain." 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
Fought all his battles o'er agahi. 

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew 
the slain! 



IQQ THE GOLDEN TREASUKY 

The master saw the madness rise, ' 

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 

And while he Heaven and "Earth defied 

Changed his hand and check 'd his pride. 

He chose a mournful Muse 

Soft pity to infuse : 

He sung Darius great and good, 

By too severe a fate 

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen. 

Fallen from his high estate. 

And weltering in his blood ; 

Deserted at his utmost need 

By those his former bountj^ fed; 

On the bare earth exposed he lies 

With not a friend to close his eyes. 

— With downcast looks the joyless victor sate. 

Revolving in his alter 'd soul 

The various turns of Chance below ; 

And now and then a sigh he stole. 

And tears began to flow. 

The mighty master smiled to see 
That love was in the next degree; 
'Twas but a kindred-sound to move, 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
''War," he sung, ''is toil and trouble, 
Honour but an empty bubble ; 
Never ending, still beginning. 
Fighting still, and still destroying; 
If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, think, it worth enjoying : 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee. 



JOHN DRYDEN Igl 

Take the good the gods provide thee ! ' ' 

— The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 

So love was crown 'd, but Music won the cause. 

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 

Gazed on the Fair 

Who caused his care. 

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 

Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again; 

At length with love and wine at once opprest 

The vanquish 'd victor sunk upon her breast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again; 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 
Break his bands of sleep asunder 
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark ! hark ! the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head : 
As awaked from the dead 
And amazed he stares around. 
*' Revenge, revenge," Timotheus cries, 
''See the Furies arise! 
See the snakes that they rear 
How they hiss in their hair. 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
Behold a ghastly band. 
Each a torch in his hand ! 

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain 
And unburied remain 
Inglorious on the plain ; 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew ! 

Behold how they toss their torches on high. 
How they point to the Persian abodes 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods." 



152 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

— The princes applaud with a furious joy: 

And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy 

Thais led the way 

To light him to his prey, 

And like another Helen, fired another Troy! 

— Thus, long ago. 
Ere heaving bellows learn 'd to blow, 
While organs yet were mute, 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre, 

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds. 
And added length to solemn sounds, 
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 
— Let old Timotheus yield the prize 
Or both divide the crown : 
He raised a mortal to the skies; 
She drew an angel down! 

John Dryden 



BOOK THREE 

152 ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM 
VICISSITUDE 

Now the golden Morn aloft 

Waves her dew-bespangled wing; 
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft 
She woos the tardy Spring : 
Till April starts, and calls around 
The sleeping fragrance from the ground, 
And lightly o'er the living scene 
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 

New-born flocks, in rustic dance, 

Frisking ply their feeble feet; 
Forgetful of their wintry trance, 

The birds his presence greet: 
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high 
His trembling thrilling ecstasy. 
And lessening from the dazzled sight, 
Melts into air and liquid light. 

Yesterday the sullen year 

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; 
Mute was the music of the air. 

The herd stood drooping by. 
Their raptures now that wildl}^ flow 
No yesterday nor morrow know; 
'Tis Man alone that joy descries 
With forward and reverted eyes. 

Smiles on past misfortune's brow 
Soft reflection's hand can trace, 
1G3 



154 TJIE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw 

A melancholy grace; 
While hope prolongs our happier hour, 
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour 
And blacken round our weary way, 
Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 

Still where rosy pleasure leads. 

See a kindred grief pursue ; 
Behind the steps that misery treads 

Approaching comfort view; 
The hues of bliss more brightly gioAv 
Chastised by sabler tints of woe. 
And, blended, form, with artful strife, 
The strength and harmony of life. 

See the wretch that long has tost 

On the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigour lost 
And breathe and walk again: 
The meanest floweret of the vale. 
The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies. 
To him are opening Paradise. 

Thomas Gray 



153 ODE TO SIMPLICITY 

Thou, by Nature taught 

To breathe her genuine thought 
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong ; 

Who first, on mountains wild, 

In Fancy, loveliest child. 
Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song! 



WILLIAM COLLINS 165 

Thou, who with hermit heart, 

Disdain 'st the wealth of art, 
And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall, 

But com'st, a decent maid 

In Attic robe array 'd, — 
chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call ! 

By all the honey 'd store 

On Hybla's thymy shore, 
By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear ; 

By her whose love-lorn woe 

In evening musings slow 
Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear; 

By old Cephisus deep, 

Who spread his wavy sweep 
In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat ; 

On whose enamell'd side. 

When holy Freedom died. 
No equal haunt allured thy future f eet : — 

sister meek of Truth, 

To my admiring youth 
Thy sober aid and native charms infuse ! 

The flowers that sweetest breathe. 

Though Beauty cull'd the wreath, 
Still ask thy hand to range their order 'd hues. 

While Rome could none esteem 

But Virtue's patriot theme, 
You loved her hills, and led her laureat band; 

But stay'd to sing alone 

To one distinguished throne; 
And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter 'd land. 



166 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

No more, in hall or bower, 

The Passions own thy power; 
Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean : 

For thou hast left her shrine ; 

Nor olive more, nor vine. 
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. 

Though taste, though genius bless 

To some divine excess. 
Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole ; 

What each, what all supply 

May court, may charm our eye ; 
Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul ! 

Of these let others ask 

To aid some mighty task; 
I only seek to find thy temperate vale, 

Where oft my reed might sound 

To maids and shepherds round. 
And all thy sons, O Nature! learn my tale. 

William Collins 



154* SOLITUDE 

Happy the man, whose wish and care 
A few paternal acres bound. 
Content to breathe his native air 
In his own ground; 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
Whose flocks supply him with attire ; 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade. 
In winter, fire; 



ALEXANDER POPE Igy 

Blest, who can unconcern 'dly find 
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away 
In health of body, peace of mhid, 
Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night ; study and ease 
Together mixt, sweet recreation, 
And innocence, which most does please, 
With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 
Thus unlamented let me die; 
Steal from the world, and not a stone 
Tell where I lie. 

Alexander Pope 



155* THE BLIND BOY 

say what is that thing call 'd Light, 
Which I must ne'er enjoy; 

What are the blessings of the sight? 
tell your poor blind boy ! 

You talk of wondrous things you see, 
You say the sun shines bright; 

1 feel him warm, but how can he 

Or make it day or night? 

My day or night myself I make 
When 'er I sleep or play ; 

And could I ever keep awake 
With me 'twere always day. 



158 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

With heavy sighs I often hear 
You mourn my hapless woe ; 

But sure with patience I can bear 
A loss I ne'er can know. 

Then let not what I cannot have 
My cheer of mind destroy : 

Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, 
Although a poor blind boy. 

Colley Cihber 



156 

ON A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF 
GOLD FISHES 

'Twas on a lofty vase's side, 
Where China's gayest art had dyed 
The azure flowers that blow, 
Demurest of the tabby kind 
The pensive Selima, reclined, 
Gazed on the lake below. 

Her conscious tail her joy declared: 
The fair round face, the snowy beard. 
The velvet of her paws, 
Her coat that with the tortoise vies, 
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes — 
She saw and purr'd applause. 

Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide 
Two angel forms were seen to glide. 
The Genii of the stream ; 



THOMAS GRAY 159 

Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue, 
Though richest purple, to the view 
Betray 'd a golden gleam. 

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw: 

A whisker first, and then a claw, 

"With many an ardent wish, 

She stretch 'd, in vain, to reach the prize — 

What female heart can gold despise? — 

What Cat's averse to fish? 

Presumptuous maid ! with looks intent 
Again she stretch 'd, again she bent, 
Nor knew the gulf between — 
Malignant Fate sat by and smiled — 
The slippery verge her feet beguiled : 
She tumbled headlong in! 

Eight times emerging from the flood. 
She mew'd to every watery God 
Some speedy aid to send : — 
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd. 
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — 
A favorite has no friend! 

From hence, ye Beauties ! undeceived. 
Know one false step is ne'er retrieved. 
And be with caution bold : 
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes 
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize. 
Nor all that glitters, gold ! 

Thomas Gray 



170 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

157 TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY 

Timely blossom, Infant fair, 
Fondling of a happy pair, 
Every morn and every night 
Their solicitous delight, 
Sleeping, waking, still at ease. 
Pleasing, without skill to please; 
Little gossip, blithe and hale. 
Tattling many a broken tale. 
Singing many a tuneless song. 
Lavish of a heedless tongue; 
Simple maiden, void of art, 
Babbling out the very heart, 
Yet abandon 'd to thy will, 
Yet imagining no ill, 
Yet too innocent to blush; 
Like the linnet in the bush 
To the mother-linnet's note 
Moduling her slender throat. 
Chirping forth thy petty joys; 
Wanton in the change of toys. 
Like the linnet green, in May 
Flitting to each bloomy spray; 
Wearied then and glad of rest, 
Like the linnet in the nest : — 
This, thy present happy lot, 
This in time will be forgot : 
Other pleasures, other cares. 
Ever-busy Time prepares; 
And thou shalt in thy daughter see. 
This picture once resembled thee. 
Ambrose Philips 



JAMES THOMSON 171 

158* RULE BRITANNIA 

When Britain first at Heaven's command 

Arose from out the azure main, 
This was the charter of her land, 

And guardian angels sung the strain : 
Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! 
Britons never shall be slaves. 

The nations not so blest as thee 
Must in their turn to tyrants fall, 

Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free, 
The dread and envy of them all. 

Still more majestic shalt thou rise. 

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; 

As the loud blast that tears the skies 
Serves but to root thy native oak. 

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; 

All their attempts to bend thee down 
Will but arouse thy generous flame. 

And work their woe and thy renown. 

To thee belongs the rural reign ; 

Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; 
All thine shall be the subject main. 

And every shore it circles thine ! 

The Muses, still with Freedom found, 
Shall to thy happy coast repair ; 

Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown 'd 
And manly hearts to guard the fair : — 



172 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! 
Britons never shall be slaves ! 

James Thomson 



159 THE BARD 

Pindaric Ode 

^'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! 

Confusion on thy banners wait 
Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, 

They mock the air with idle state. 
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail. 
Nor e'en thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!" 
— Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 

Of the first Edward scatter 'd wild dismay. 
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 

He wound with toilsome march his long array : — 
Stout Glo 'ster stood aghast in speechless trance ; 
*'To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch 'd his quivering 
lance. 

On a rock, whose haughty brow 
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 

Robed in the sable garb of woe, 
With haggard eyes the Poet stood; 
(Loose, his beard and hoary hair 
Stream 'd like a meteor to the troubled air) 
And with a masters' hand and prophet's fire 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre : 

''Hark, how each giant-oak and desert-cave 
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! 



THOMAS GRAY 



173 



O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave, 

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. 
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 

''Cold is Cadwallo's tongue. 

That hush'd the stormy main; 
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed; 

Mountains, ye mourn in vain 

Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon bovv^ his cloud-topt head. 

On dreary Arvon's shore they lie 
Smear 'd with gore and ghastly pale : 
Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail ; 

The famish 'd eagle screams, and passes by. 
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art. 

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes. 
Dear as the ruddy drops that Avarm my heart, 

Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 
No more I weep ; They do not sleep ; 

On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, 
I see them sit ; They linger yet, 

Avengers of their native land : 
With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 

'' 'Weave the tvarp and iccave the tvoof, 
The winding sheet of Edward's race; 
Give ample room and verge enough 
The characters of hell to trace. 
Mark the year, and mark the night, 
When Severn shall re-echo with affright 
The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roof that ring, 
Shrieks of an agonizing king! 



174 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

She-ivolf of Frayice, with unrelenting fangs 
That tcar'st the howels of thy mangled mate, 

From thee he horn, tvho o'er thy country hangs. 
The scour age of heaven! What terrors round him 

ivait! 
Amazement in his van, tvith flight combined. 
And sorrow's faded form, and soliindc behind. 

^Mighty victor, miglity lord, 

Low on his fiincral couch he lies! 
No pitying heart, no eye, afford 

A tear to grace his obsequies. 
Is the sable warrior fledf 
Thy son is gone. lie rests among the dead. 
The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were bornf 
— Gone to salute the rising morn. 
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows. 

While proudly riding o'er the azure realm 
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes : 

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: 
Begayxlless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway. 
That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey. 

'Fill high the sparkling bowl. 
The rich repast prepare; 

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : 
Close by the regal chair 

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. 
Heard ye the din of battle bray, 

Lance to lance, and horse to horse f 

Long years of havock urge their destined course, 
And thro' the kindred squadrons motv their way. 

Ye towers of Jidius, London's lasting shame. 



THOMAS GRAY 275 

With many a foul and midnight ynurder fed, 
Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame. 

And spare the meek usurper's holy head! 

Above, helow, the rose of snoiv, 

Tivined ivith her blushing foe, ive spread: 

The bristled boar in infant-gore 
Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 

Noiv, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, 

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. 

* Edward, lo! to sudden fate 

(Weave we the ivoof; The thread is spun;) 
Half of thy heart ive consecrate. 

(The web is wove; The work is done.) ' 
— Stay, oh stay ! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me imbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: 
In yon bright track that fires the western sl^ies 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height, 

Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll? 
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight. 
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! 
No moro our long-lost Arthur we bewail:— 
All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail! 

''Girt with many a baron bold. 
Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 
In bearded majesty, appear. 
In the midst a form divine ! 
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line, 
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face 
Attemper 'd sweet to virgin-grace. 



176 "THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 
What strains of vocal transport round her play ! 

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 

Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings, 

Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour 'd v^ings. 

*'The verse adorn again 

Fierce war, and faithful love. 
And truth severe by fairy fiction drest. 

In buskin 'd measures move 
Pale grief, and pleasing pain. 
With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 
A voice as of the cherub-choir 

Gales from blooming Eden bear. 

And distant warblings lessen on my ear. 
That, lost in long futurity, expire. 
Fond impious man, think 'st thou yon sanguine cloud 

Raised by thy breath, has quench 'd the orb of day? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood 

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
Enough for me : with joy I see 

The different doom our fates assign: 
Be thine despair and sceptred care. 

To triumph and to die are mine. ' ' 
• — He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. 

Thomas Gray 

160* ODE WRITTEN IN 1746 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
By all their country 's wishes blest ! 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold. 



WILLIAM COLLINS 177 

Returns to deck their hallow 'd mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung, 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung: 
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 
And Freedom shall awhile repair 
To dAvell a weeping hermit there! 
Willimn Collins 



161* LAMENT FOR CULLODEN 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, "Alas!" 
And aye the saut tear blins her ee : 
''Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 
A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear. 
My father dear, and brethren three. 

*' Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to see; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's ee ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair 
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee." 
Robert Burns 



178 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

162 LAMENT FOR FLODDEN 

I've heard them lilting* at our ewe-milking, 

Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day; 
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning. 

Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae; 
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing. 

Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. 

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now^ are jeering, 
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; 

At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; 

But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 
The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. 

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border ! 

The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; 
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the fore- 
most. 

The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 

We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; 

Women and bairns are heartless and wae; 
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

Jane Elliott 



JOHN LOGAN I79 

163* THE BRAES OF YARROW 

' ' Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, 
When first on them I met my lover ; 
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, 
When now thy waves his body cover ! 
For ever now, Yarrow stream! 
Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; 
For never on thy banks shall I 
Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow^ ! 

''He promised me a milk-white steed 

To bear me to his father's bowers; 

He promised me a little page 

To squire me to his father's towers; 

He promised me a wedding ring, — 

The w^edding-day was fix'd to-morrow; — 

Now he is wedded to his grave, 

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 

' ' Sweet were his words when last we met ; 
My passion I as freely told him; 
Clasp 'd in his arms, I little thought 
That I should never more behold him ; 
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 
It vanish 'd with a shriek of sorrow; 
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend. 
And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. 

"His mother from the window look'd 

With all the longing of a mother; 

His little sister w^eeping walk'd 

The green-wood path to meet her brother ; 

They sought him east, they sought him Avcst, 



230 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
They only saw the cloud of night, 
They only heard the roar of Yarrow. 

*'No longer from thy window look — 
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! 
No longer walk, thou lovely maid; 
Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 
No longer seek him east or Avest 
And search no more the forest thorough ; 
For, w^andering in the night so dark, 
He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. 

''The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
No other youth shall be my marrow — 
I'll seek thy body in the stream. 
And then with thee 111 sleep in Yarrow." 
— The tear did never leave her cheek, 
No other youth became her marrow ; 
She found his body in the stream. 
And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 

JoJm Logan 



164* WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW 

Down in yon garden sweet and gay 
Where bonnie grows the lily, 

I heard a fair maid sighing say, 
''My wish be wi' sweet Willie! 

'* Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, 
And Willie's wondrous bonny; 

And Willie hecht to marry me 
Gin e'er he married ony. 



UNKNOWN 181 

*'0 gentle wind, that bloweth south 

From where my Love repaireth, 
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth 

And tell me how he f areth ! 

/*0 tell sweet Willie to come doun 

And hear the mavis singing, 
And see the birds on ilka bush 
And leaves around them hinging. 

^'The lav 'rock there, wi' her white breast 

And gentle throat sae narrow; 
There's sport eneuch for gentlemen 

On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 

''0 Leader haughs are wide and braid 

And Yarrow haughs are bonny; 
There Willie hecht to marry me 

If e'er he married ony. 

'^But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, 

And does not hear me weeping; 
Draws many a tear frae true loA^e's e'e 

When other maids are sleeping. 

** Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, 

The night I'll mak' it narrow. 
For a' the live-lang winter night 

I lie twined o' my marrow. 

* ' came ye by yon water-side ? 

Pou'd you the rose or lily? 
Or came you by yon meadow green, 

Or saw you my sw^eet Willie?" 



182 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

She sought him up, she sought him down, 
She sought him braid and narrow; 

Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, 
She found him drown 'd in Yarrow! 

Unknown 



165 LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE 

Toll for the Brave ! 
The brave that are no more! 
All sunk beneath the wave 
Fast by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave, 
Whose courage well was tried, 
Had made the vessel heel 
And laid her on her side. 

A land-breeze shook the shrouds 
And she was overset ; 
Down went the Royal George, 
With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 
Brave Kempenfelt is gone; 
His last sea-fight is fought. 
His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 
No tempest gave the shock ; 
She sprang no fatal leak. 
She ran upon no rock. 



WILLIAM COWPER ;|^g3 

His SAvord was in its slicath, 
His fing^ers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 
With twice four hundred men. 

— Weigh the vessel up 
Once dreaded by our foes ! 
And mingle with our cup 
The tears that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again. 

Full charged with England's thunder, 

And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone, 

His victories are o'er; 

And he and his eight hundred 

Shall plough the Avave no more. 

William Cowper 



166* BLACK-EYED SUSAN 

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, 
The streamers waving in the Avind, 

When black-eyed Susan came aboard; 
'*0! where shall I my true-love find? 

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 

If my sweet William sails among the crew." 

William, who high upon the yard 
Eock'd with the billow to and fro, 

Soon as her well-known voice he heard 
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes beloAv : 



184 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands 
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 

So the sweet lark, high poised in air, 

Shuts close his pinions to his breast 
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear. 

And drops at once into her nest : — 
The noblest captain in the British fleet 
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 

'*0 Susan, Susan, lovely dear. 

My vows shall ever true remain; 
Let me kiss off that falling tear ; 

We only part to meet again. 
Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be 
The faithful compass that still points to thee. 

** Believe not what the landmen say 

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; 

They'll tell thee, sailors, w^hen away, 
In every port a mistress find: 

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 

For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 

*'If to fair India's coast we sail, 

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright; 

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale. 
Thy skin is ivory so white : 

Thus every beauteous object that I view 

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 

'^ Though battle call me from thy arms 

Let not my pretty Susan mourn; 
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 

William shall to his Dear return. 



JOHN GAY 185 

Love turns aside the balls tliat round me fly, 

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." 

The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 

The sails their swelling bosom spread, 
No longer must she stay aboard ; 

They kiss'd, she sigh 'd, he hung his head. 
Her lessening boat unwilling row^s to land ; 
''Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand. 

John Gay 



167* SALLY IN OUR ALLEY 

Of all the girls that are so smart 

There's none like pretty Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 
There is no lady in the land 

Is half so sweet as Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Her father he makes cabbage-nets 

And through the streets does cry ' 
Her mother she sells laces long 

To such as please to buy 'em. 
But sure such folks could ne'er beget 

So sweet a girl as Sally! 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

When she is by, I leave my work, 
I love her. so sincerely; 



186 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

My master comes like any Turk, 
And bangs me most severely — 

But let him bang his bellyful, 
I'll bear it all for Sally; 

She is the darling of my heart. 
And she lives in our alley. 

Of all the days that's in the week 

I dearly love but one day — 
And that's the day that comes betwixt 

A Saturday and Monday; 
For then I'm drest all in my best 

To walk abroad with Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 

My master carries me to church. 

And often am I blamed 
Because I leave him in the lurch 

As soon as text is named ; 
I leave the church in sermon-time 

And slink away to Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

When Christmas comes about again 

then I shall have money ; 
I'll hoard it up, and box it all, 

1 '11 give it to my honey ; 

I would it were ten thousand pound, 

I 'd give it all to Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 



HENRY CAREY igj 

My master and the neighbours all 

Make game of me and Sally, 
And, but for her, I'd better be 

A slave and row a galley; 
But when my seven long years are out 

then I'll marry Sally, — 
O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed. . . 

But not in our alley ! 

Henry Carey 



168* A FAREWELL 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie. 
That I may drink before I go 

A service to my bonnie lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar. 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wisli to tarry; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 

Robert Burns 

169 If doughty deeds my lady please. 
Right soon I'll mount my steed; 



188 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And strong his arm, and fast his seat 

That bears frae me the meed. 
I'll Avear thy colours in my cap, 

Thy picture at my heart ; 
And he that bends not to thine eye 
Shall rue it to his smart ! 

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ; 

tell me how to woo thee! 
For thy dear sake, nae care I '11 take 
Tho' ne'er another trow me. 

If gay attire delight thine eye, 

I'll dight me in array; 
I'll tend thy chamber door all night, 

And squire thee all the day. 
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, 

These sounds I'll strive to catch; 
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, 

That voice that nane can match. 

But if fond love thy heart can gain, 

I never broke a vow; 
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, 

I never loved but you. 
For you alone I ride the ring, 

For you I wear the blue. 
For you alone I strive to sing, 

tell me how to woo ! 
Then tell me how to woo thee. Love ; 

tell me how to woo thee ! 
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, 

Tho' ne'er another trow me. 

Bohert Graham of Gartmore 



WILLIAM COWPER 189 

170 TO A YOUNG LADY 

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, 

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 

Silent and chaste she steals along. 

Far from the world's gay busy throng; 

With gentle yet prevailing force. 

Intent upon her destined course; 

Graceful and useful all she does. 

Blessing and blest where'er she goes; 

Pure-bosom 'd as that watery glass. 

And Heaven reflected in her face. 

William Cowper 

171* THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 

Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile — 
Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes. 
Thy rosy lips still wear a smile 
And move, and breathe delicious sighs ! 

Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks 
And mantle o 'er her neck of snow ; 
Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks 
What most I wish — and fear to know! 

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! 
Her fair hands folded on her breast : 
— And now, how like a saint she sleeps ! 
A seraph in the realms of rest ! 

Sleep on secure ! Above controul 

Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee : 



190 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And may the secret of thy soul 
Remain within its sanctuary ! 

Samuel Rogers 



172* For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 
An unrelenting foe to Love, 
And when we meet a mutual heart 
Come in between, and bid us part? 

Bid us sigh on from day to day, 
And wish and wish the soul away, 
Till youth and genial years are flown, 
And all the life of life is gone? 

But busy, busy still art thou. 
To bind the loveless, joyless vow, 
The heart from pleasure to delude, 
To join the gentle to the rude. 

For once, Fortune, hear my prayer, 
And I absolve thy future care : 
All other blessings I resign, 
Make but the dear Amanda mine. 
James Thomson 

173 The merchant, to secure his treasure. 
Conveys it in a borrow 'd name: 
Euphelia serves to grace my measure, 
But Cloe is my real flame. 

My softest verse, my darling lyre 

Upon Euphelia 's toilet lay — 

"When Cloe noted her desire 

That 1 should sing, that I should play. 



MATTHEW PRIOR 191 

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, 
But with my numbers mix my sighs; 
And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, 
I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. 

Fair Cloe blush 'd; Euphelia frown 'd; 
I sung, and gazed ; I play 'd, and trembled ; 
And Venus to the Loves around 
Remark 'd how ill we all dissembled. 

Matthew Prior 



174 LOVE'S SECRET 

Never seek to tell thy love. 
Love that never told can be ; 

For the gentle wind doth move 
Silently, invisibly. 

I told my love, I told my love, 

I told her all my heart ; 
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears: — 

Ah! she did depart. 

Soon after she was gone from me 

A traveller came by, . 
Silently, invisibly: 

He took her with a sigh. 

William Blake 

175* When lovely woman stoops to folly 

And finds too late that men betray,— 
What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
What art can wash her guilt away? 



192 THE GOLDEN TREASUKY 

The only art her guilt to cover, 
To hide her shame from every eye, 
To give repentance to her lover 
And wring his bosom, is — to die. 

Oliver Goldsmith 



176 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye blume sae fair ! 
How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
And I sae fu' o' care! 

Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird 
That sings upon the bough; 

Thou minds me o' the happy days 
"When my fause Luve was true. 

Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 
That sings beside thy mate ; 

For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon 
To see the woodbine twine. 

And ilka bird sang o' its love; 
And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Frae aff its thorny tree; 
And my fause luver staw the rose. 

But left the thorn wi' me. 

Robert Burns 



THOMAS GRAY I93 

177 THE PROGRESS OF POESY 

A Pindaric Ode 

Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, 
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
From. Helicon's harmonious springs 

A thousand rills their mazy progress take; 
The laughing flowers that round them blow 
Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
Now the rich stream of music winds along 
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong. 
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; 
Now rolling down the steep amain 
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : 
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. 

Oh ! Sovereign of the willing soul. 
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares 

And frantic Passions hear thy soft controul. 
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 
Has curb'd the fury of his car 
And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. 
Perching on the sceptred hand 
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather 'd king 
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing: 
Quench 'd in dark clouds of slumber lie 
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 

Thee the voice, the dance, obey, 
Temper 'd to thy warbled lay. 
O'er Idalia's velvet-green 
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 
On Cytherea's day; 



194 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 
Frisking light in frolic measures; 
NoAv pursuing, now retreating, 

Now in circling troops they meet ; 
To brisk notes in cadence beating 

Glance their many-twinkling feet. 
Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare: 

Where 'er she turns, the Graces homage pay : 
With arms sublime that float upon the air 

In gliding state she Avins her easy way : 
O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. 

Man's feeble race what ills await! 
Labour and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train. 

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! — 
The fond complaint, my song, disprove, 
And justify the laws of Jove : 
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? 
Night, and all her sickly dews. 
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry 
He gives to range the dreary sky : 
Till down the eastern cliffs afar 

Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of 
war. 

Li climes beyond the solar road, 
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 

To cheer the shivering native 's dull abode. 
And oft, beneath the odorous shade 
Of Chili 's boundless forests laid. 
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat. 



THOMAS GRAY 

In loose numbers wildly sweet, 

Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. 

Her track, where'er the goddess roves. 

Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 

Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 
Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep. 
Fields that cool Ilissus laves. 
Or where ]\Iaeander 's amber waves 
In lingering labyrinths creep. 
How do your tuneful echoes languish, 
Mute but to the voice of anguish ! 
"Where each old poetic mountain 

Inspiration breathed around 
Every shade and hallow 'd fountain 

Llurmur 'd deep a solemn sound ; 
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour 

Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains : 
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 

And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost. 
They sought, oh Albion! next, thy sea-encircled coast. 

Far from the sun and summer-gale 
In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid. 
What time, where lucid Avon stray 'd. 

To him the mighty Mother did unveil 
Her awful face : the dauntless child 
Stretch 'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 
''This pencil take," she said, "whose colours clear 
Richly paint the vernal year ; 
Tliine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! 
This can unlock the gates of joy ; 



195 



196 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

Of horror that, and thrilling fears, 

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." 

Nor second, He that rode sublime 
Upon the seraph- wings of Extasy 
The secrets of the abyss to spy : 

He pass 'd the flaming bounds of place and time ; 
The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze 
Where angels tremble while they gaze, 
He saw ; but blasted with excess of light, 
Closed his eyes in endless night. 
Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car 
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
Two coursers of ethereal race. 

With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding 
pace. 

Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! 

Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er. 

Scatters from her pictured urn 

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 

But ah ! 'tis heard no more — 

Oh ! lyre divine, what daring spirit 

Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit 

Nor the pride nor ample pinion 

That the Theban eagle bear, 
Sailing with supreme dominion 

Thro ' the azure deep of air : 
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray 
With orient hues, unborrow 'd of the sun ; 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate : 
Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. 

Thomas Gray 



WILLIAM COLLINS 197 

178 THE PASSIONS 

An Ode for Music 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung. 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell. 
Throng 'd around her magic cell. 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possest beyond the Muse's painting. 
By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturb 'd, delighted, raised, refined: 
'Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatch 'd her instruments of sound, 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try. 

Amid the chords bewilder 'd laid, 
And back recoil'd, he knew not why, \^ 

E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire. 

In lightnings own'd his secret stings; 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre 

And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

With woeful measures wan Despair, 

Low sullen sounds, his grief beguiled; 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 



;[98 THE GOLDEN" TREASURY 

But thoii, Hope, with eyes so fair, 

What was thy delighted measure? 
Still it whisper 'd promised pleasure 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale 
She call 'd on Echo still through all the song ; 

And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden 
hair ; — 

And longer had she sung : — but with a frown 

Revenge impatient rose: 
He threw his blood-stain 'd sword in thunder down ; 

And with a witliering look 
The war-denouncing trumpet took 
And blew a blast so loud and dread. 
Were ne 'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 

And ever and anon he beat 

The doubling drum with furious heat ; 
And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 

Dejected Pity at his side 

Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 
While each strain 'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from 
his head. 

Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fix'd: 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; 

And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. 



WILLIAM COLLINS I99 

With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 

And from her wild, sequester 'd seat, 

In notes of distance made more sweet, 

Pour 'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 

And dashing soft from rocks around, 

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound. 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole. 
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 

Round an holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace, and lonely musing, 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

But 0! how alter 'd was its sprightlier tone, 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 

Her bow across her shoulder flung. 

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew. 
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung :— 

The hunter 's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! 
The oak-crown 'd Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, 

Satyrs and Sylvan Boys were seen 

Peeping from forth their alleys green; 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Last came Joy 's ecstatic trial : 
lie, with viny crown advancing, 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest: 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : 
They would have thought who heard the strain 
They saw, in Tempe 's vale, her native maids 
Amidst the festal-sounding shades 



200 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round; 

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; 

And he, amidst his frolic play, 

As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 

O Music ! sphere-descended maid, 
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! 
Why, goddess! why, to us denied. 
Lay 'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 
As in that loved Athenian bower 
You learn 'd an all-commanding power, 
Thy mimic soul, Nymph endear 'd, 
Can well recall what then it heard. 
Where is thy native simple heart, 
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art ? 
Arise, as in that elder time, 
Warm, energic, chaste, sublime ! 
Thy wonders, in that god-like age, 
Fill thy recording Sister's page: 
'Tis said, and I believe the tale. 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 
Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
Than all which charms this laggard age, 
E 'en all at once together found : — 
Cecilia's mingled w^orld of sound. 
bid our vain endeavours cease ; 
Revive the just designs of Greece ; 
Return in all thy simple state 1 
Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 

William Collins 



CHRISTOPHER SMART 201 

179* THE SONG OF DAVID 

He sang of God, the mighty source 
Of all things, the stupendous force 

On which all strength depends: 
From Whose right arm, beneath Whose eyes, 
All period, power, and enterprise 

Commences, reigns, and ends. 

The world, the clustering spheres He made, 
The glorious light, the soothing shade, 

Dale, champaign, grove and hill; 
The multitudinous abyss. 
Where secrecy remains in bliss. 

And wisdom hides her skill. 

*'Tell them, I AM," Jehovah said 
To Moses ; while Earth heard in dread, 

And, smitten to the heart, 
At once, above, beneath, around. 
All Nature, without voice or sound. 
Replied, '^0 Lord, T-HOU ART." 

Christopher Smart 



180 INFANT JOY 

''I have no name; 
I am but two days old." 
—What shall I call thee? 
**I happy am; 



202 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Joy is my name." 

— Sweet joy befall thee ! 

Pretty joy! 

Sweet joy, but two days old; 

Sweet joy I call thee : 

Thou dost smile : 

I sing the w^hile, 

Sweet joy befall thee ! 

William Blake 



181 A CRADLE SONG 

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright. 
Dreaming in the joys of night ; 
Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep 
Little sorrows sit and weep. 

SwTct babe, in thy face 
Soft desires I can trace, 
Secret joys and secret smiles, 
Little pretty infant wiles. 

As thy softest limbs I feel, 
Smiles as of the morning steal 
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast 
Where thy little heart doth rest. 

Oh the cunning wiles that creep 
In thy little heart asleep ! 
When thy little heart doth wake, 
Then the dreadful light shall break. 
Williain Blake 



THOMAS GRAY 203 

182* ODE ON THE SPRING 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom 'd Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, appear. 
Disclose the long-expecting flowers 

And wake the purple year ! 
The Attic warbler pours her throat 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note. 
The untaught harmony of Spring; 
While, whispering pleasure as they fly, 
Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky 

Their gather 'd fragrance fling. 

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 

A broader, browner shade. 
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 

'er-canopies the glad-e, 
Beside some water's rushy brink 
With me the Muse shall sit, and think 
(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vain the ardour of the crowd. 
How low, how little are the proud, 

How indigent the great ! 

Still is the toiling hand of Care ; 

The panting herds repose ; 
Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows ! 
The insect-youth are on the wing. 
Eager to taste the honied spring 
And float amid the liquid noon ; 
Some lightly o'er the current skim. 
Some show their gaily-gilded trim 

Quick-glancing to the sun. 



204 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

To Contemplation's sober eye 

Such is the race of Man ; 
And they that creep, and they that fly, 

Shall end where they began. 
Alike the Busy and the Gay 
But flutter thro' life's little day, 
In Fortune's varying colours drest; 
Brush 'd by the hand of rough Mischance, 
Or chill 'd by Age, their airy dance 

They leave, in dust to rest. 

Methinks I hear in accents low 

The sportive kind reply : 
*'Poor moralist! and what art thou? 

A solitary fly ! 
Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
No painted plumage to display ; 
On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; 
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 

We frolic while 'tis May." 

Thomas Gray 



183* THE POPLAR FIELD 

The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade 
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; 
The winds play no longer and smg in the leaves, 
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 

Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view 
Of my favourite field and the bank where they grew ; 



WILLIAM COWPER 205 

And now in the grass behold they are laid, 

And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade ! 

The blackbird has fled to another retreat, 
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat ; 
And the scene where his melody charm 'd me before 
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 

My fugitive years are all hasting away. 
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 
With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head. 
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 

The change both my heart and my fancy employs, 
I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys : 
Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, 
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 

William Coiuper 



184 TO A MOUSE 

On turning licr up in her nest, irith the plough, 
November, 1785 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 

what a panic 's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
Wi ' bickering brattle ! 

1 wad be laith to rin an ' chase thee 
Wi' murd'ring pattle! 

I 'm truly sorry man 's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 



206 THE f^OLDEN TREASURY 

An' justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 

At me, thy poor* earth-born companion 

An' fellow-mortal! 

I doubt na, whiles, but thoa may thieve; 

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 

A daimen-icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request; 

I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, 

And never miss't! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin 1 

Its silly wa's the win's are strewin; 

And naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O ' f oggage green ! 

An' bleak December's winds ensuin' 

Baith snell an ' keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid ba^;c an' waste 

An' weary winter comin' fast. 

An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell. 

Till, crash! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 
But house or hald. 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble 
An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
In proving foresight may be vain: 



ROBERT BURNS 207 

The best laid schemes o ' mice an ' men 
Gang aft a-gley, 

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain 
For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest, compared wi ' me ! 

The present only toucheth thee : 

But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear! 

An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an ' fear ! 

Robert Burns 



185* A WISH 

Mine be a cot beside the hill; 
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; 
A willowy brook that turns a mill. 
With many a fall shall linger near. 

The swallow oft, beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; 
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 

Around my ivied porch shall spring 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
In russet-gown and apron blue. 

The village-church among the trees, 
Where first our marriage-vows were given, 
With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
And point with taper spire to Heaven. 

Sam2iel Rogers 



208 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

186 ODE TO EVENING 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral soug 

May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear 

Like thy own solemn springs, 

Thy springs, and dying gales, 

O Nymph reserved,— while now the bright-hair 'd sun 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 

With brede ethereal wove, 

'erhang his wavy bed. 

Now air is hush 'd, save where the weak-eyed bat, 
With short, shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, 

Or where the beetle winds 

His small but sullen horn. 

As oft he rises midst the twilight path, 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum, — 

Now teach me, maid composed. 

To breathe some soften 'd strain, 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, 
]\Iay not unseemly with its stillness suit ; 

As, musing slow, I hail 

Thy genial loved return. 

For when thy folding-star arising shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 

The fragrant Hours, and Elves 

Who slept in buds the day. 

And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge 
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still. 



WILLIAM COLLINS 209 

The pensive Pleasures sweet, 
Prepare thy shadowy car. 

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; 
Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, 

Whose walls more awful nod 

By thy religious gleams; 

Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain 
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 

That, from the mountain's side. 

Views wilds, and swelling floods. 

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover 'd spires ; 
And hears their simple bell ; and marks o 'er all 

Thy dewy fingers draw 

The gradual dusky veil. 

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 

While Summer loves to sport 

Beneath thy lingering light; 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 

Affrights thy shrinking train 

And rudely rends thy robes : 

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, 

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 

Thy gentlest influence own. 

And love thy favourite name ! 

William Collins 



210 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

187 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY 
CHURCHYARD 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade. 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid. 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed. 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 



THOMAS GRAY 211 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
How bow 'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. 
Awaits alike th ' inevitable hour : — 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault 

If memory o 'er their tomb no trophies raise. 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can honour 's voice provoke the silent dust ? 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire, 
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway 'd 
Or waked to extasy the living lyre ; 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page. 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne 'er unroll ; 
Chill penury repress 'd their noble rage, 
And froze the genial cui'rent of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 



212 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country 's blood. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes 

Their lot forbad ; nor circumscribed alone 
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; 
Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind. 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame. 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
"With incense kindled at the Muse 's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife 
Their sober wishes never learn 'd to stray ; 
Along the cool sequester 'd vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. 

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh. 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck 'd, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply ; 



THOMAS GRAY 213 

And many a holy text around she strews 
That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

|i^or who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign 'd, 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 
E 'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 
E 'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead. 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate, — 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

''There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

''Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn. 
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; 
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or cross 'd in hopeless love. 

' ' One morn I miss 'd him on the custom 'd hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; 



214 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 

''The next with dirges due in sad array 
Slow through the ehureh-way path we saw him borne, — 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
Fair science frown 'cl not on his humble birth 
And melancholy mark'd him for her ow^n. 

Large w^as his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear. 

He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode: 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

Thomas Gray 



188* MARY MORISON 

O Mary, at thy window be. 
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 
Those smiles and glances let me see 
That make the miser's treasure poor. 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 
A weary slave frae sun to sun. 



ROBERT BURNS 215 

Could 1 the rich reward secure, 
The lovely Mary Llorison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
To thee my fancy took its wing, — 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw ; 
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the tow^n, 
I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
"Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
Whase only faut is loving thee? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thought ungentle canna be 
The thought o' Mary Morison. 

Robert Burns 



189* BONNIE LESLEY 

saw ye bonnie Lesley 

As she gaed o 'er the border ? 

She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her for ever ; 

For Nature made her what she is. 
And ne'er made sic anither! 



21G THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee; 

Thou art divine, Fair Lesley, 
The hearts o ' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He'd look into thy bonnie face, 
And say ' ' I canna wrang thee ! ' ' 

The Powers aboon will tent thee, 
Misfortune sha' na steer thee; 

Thou'rt, like themselves, sae lovely 
That ill they '11 ne 'er let near thee. 

Eeturn again, Fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 

Robert Burns 



190 my Luve's like a red, red rose 

That's newly sprung in June; 
O my Luve's like the melodic 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
So deep in luve am I ; 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
Till a ' the seas gang dry : 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi ' the sun ; 



ROBERT BURNS 217 

I will luve thee still, my dear, 

While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only Luve ! 

And fare thee weel awhile! 
And I will come again, my Luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 
Kohert Burns 



191* HIGHLAND MARY 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

0' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom 'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp 'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours on angel wings 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace 
Our parting was fu' tender; 



218 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But, Oh ! fell Death 's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary. 

pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly; 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ; 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo 'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

Robert Burns 



192 AULD ROBIN GRAY 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 
And a' the world to rest are gane, 
The waes o' my heart fa' in show^ers frae my e'e, 
While my gudeman lies sound by me. 

Young Jamie lo 'ed me weel and sought me for his bride, 
But saving a croun he had naething else beside ; 
To make the croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea, 
And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, 
When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown 
awa: 



LADY ANNE LINDSAY 219 

My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — 
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin ' me. 

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; 
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; 
Auld Rob maintain 'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e 
Said, ''Jennie, for their sakes, 0, marry me!" 

My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ; 

His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee ? 

Or why do I live to cry, ' ' Wae 's me ? " 

My father urgit sair ; my mother didna speak. 
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break ; 
They gi 'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea — 
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 

I hadna been a wife a week but only four. 
When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he — 
Till he said, " I 'm come hame to marry thee. ' ' 

sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; 
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away— 

1 wish that I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee ; 
And why was I born to say, ' ' Wae 's me ! " 

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
But I '11 do my best a gude wife aye to be. 
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. 

Lady Anne Lindsay 



220 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

193 DUNCAN GRAY 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ; 
On blythe Yule night when we were fou, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't: 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'cl asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 

Duncan fleech 'd, and Duncan pray 'd ; 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig ; 
Duncan sigh 'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer 't and blin ', 
Spak o' lowpin ower a linn ! 

Time and chance are but a tide, 
Slighted love is sair to bide ; 
''Shall I, like a fool," quoth he, 
''For a haughty hizzie dee? 
She may gae to — France, for me!" 

How it comes let doctors tell, 

Meg grew sick — as he grew well; 

Something in her bosom wrings ; 

For relief a sigh she brings, 

And, her een, they spak sic things! 

Duncan was a lad o' grace; 
Maggie 's was a piteous case ; 
Duncan couldna be her death. 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; 



ROBERT BURNS 221 



Now they're crouse and canty baith 
Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! 

Robert Burns 



194 THE SAILOR'S WIFE 

And are ye sure the news is true ? 

And are ye. sure he's weel? 
Is this the time to think o ' wark ? 

Ye jades, lay by your wheel. 
Is this the time to spin a thread, 

When Colin 's at the door? 
Reach down my cloak, I '11 to the quay, 

And see him come ashore. 
For there 's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a'; 
There's little pleasure in the house 

When our gudeman's awa. 

And gie to me my bigonet, 

My bishop 's satin gown ; 
For I maun tell the baillie's wife 

That Colin 's in the town. 
My Turkey slippers maun gae on. 

My stockins pearly blue; 
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman. 

For he's baith leal and true. 

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside. 

Put on the muckle pot; 
Gie little Kate her button gown 

And Jock his Sunday coat ; 



222 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 
Their hose as white as snaw; 

It's a' to please my ain gudeman, 
For he's been long awa. 

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop 

Been fed this month and mair, 
]\Iak haste and thraw their necks about, 

That Colin weel may fare ; 
And spread the table neat and clean, 

Gar ilka thing look braw ; 
For wha can tell how Colin fared 

When he was far awa ? 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, 

His breath like caller air; 
His very foot has music in't 

As he comes up the stair — 
And will I see his face again? 

And will I hear him speak? 
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. 

In troth I'm like to greet! 

If Colin 's weel, and weel content, 

I hae nae mair to crave : 
And gin I live to keep him sae, 

I'm blest aboon the lave. 
And will I see his face again. 

And will I hear him speak? 
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. 

In troth. I'jh like to greet. 
For there's nae luck about the house. 

There 's nae luck at a ' : 



WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE 223 

There's little pleasure in the house 
When our gudeman's awa. 

William Julius Mickle 



195 ABSENCE 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie, 

And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

Unknown 



196* JEAN 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

I dearly like the Wc^st, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best. 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air. 



224 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

There's not a bonnie flower that springs 
By fountain, shaw, or green, 

There's not a bonnie bird that sings 
But minds me o' my Jean. 

blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft 

Amang the leafy trees ; 
Wi' bahny gale, frae hill and dale 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That 's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 

Sae charming is my Jean. 

What sighs and vows amang the knowes 

Hae passM at ween us twa ! 
How fond to meet, how wae to part 

That night she gaed awa ! 
The Powers aboon can only ken 

To whom the heart is seen, 
That nane can be sae dear to me 

As my sweet lovely Jean ! 

Robert Burns 



197 JOHN ANDERSON 

John Anderson my jo, John, 
When we were first acquent, 
Your locks were like the raven, 
Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 
Your locks are like the snow ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 
John Anderson my jo. 



ROBERT BURNS 225 

John Anderson my jo, John, 
We clamb the hill thegither, 
And mony a canty day, John, 
"We Ve had wi ' ane anither ; 
Now we maun totter down, John, 
But hand in hand we'll go. 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 
John Anderson my jo. 

Robert Burns 



198* THE LAND O' THE LEAL 

I'm wearing awa', Jean, 

Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, 

I'm wearing awa' 

To the land o' the leal. 
There's nae sorrow there, Jean, 
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, 
The day is aye fair. 

In the land o' the leal. 

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, 
Your task's ended noo, Jean, 
And I'll welcome you 

To the land o' the leal. 
Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, 
She was baith guid and fair, Jean ; 
we grudged her right sair 

To the lando' the leal! 

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, 
My soul langs to be free, Jean, 



226 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And angels wait on me 
To the land o ' the leal. 

Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 

This warld's care is vain, Jean; 

We'll meet and aye be fain 
In the land o ' the leal ! 

Lady Caroline Nairn 



199 ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF 

ETON COLLEGE 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the watery glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy shade; 
And ye, that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below 
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey. 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 

His silver-winding way ; — 

Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade ! 

Ah fields beloved in vain ! 
Where once my careless childhood stray 'd, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow. 
As, waving fresh their gladsome wing. 
My >veary soul they seem to soothe. 

And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 



THOMAS GRAY 227 

Say, Father Thames (for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race, 
Disporting on thy margent green, 

The paths of pleasure trace) ; 
Who foremost now delight to cleave 
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave? 
The captive linnet which enthral? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed. 

Or urge the flying ball? 

While some, on earnest business bent. 

Their murnuiring labours ply 
'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty, 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign 
And unknown regions dare descry ; 
Still as they run they look behind, 
They hear a voice in every wind. 

And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possest ; 
The tear, forgot as soon as shed. 

The sunshine of the breast; 
Theirs, buxom health, of rosy hue, 
Wild wit, invention ever new. 
And lively cheer, of vigour born, 
The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light 

That fly tli' approach of morn. 

Alas ! regardless of their doom 
The little victims play ; 



228 THE COLDEN TREASURY 

No sense have they of ills to (iome 

Nor care beyond to-day : 
Yet see how all around 'em wait 
The ministers of human fate 
And black Misfortune's baleful train! 
Ah show them where in ambush stand, 
To seize their prey, the murderous band! 

Ah, tell them they are men ! 

These shall the fury Passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful ^i^ger, pallid Fear, 

And Shame, that sculks behind ; 
Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth 
That inly gnaws the secret heart, 
And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 

And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 

Then whirl the wretch from high, 
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice 

And grinning Infamy. 
The stings of Falsehood those shall try 
And hard Unkindness' alter 'd eye, 
That mocks the tear it forced to flow ; 
And keen Remorse, with blood defiled. 
And moody Madness, laughing wild 
Amid severest woe. 

Lo, in the vale of years beneath 

A griesly troop are seen. 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their queen : 



THOMAS GRAY 229 

This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
That every labouring sinew strains. 
Those in the deeper vitals rage ; 
Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band, 
That numbs the soul with icy hand, 
And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his sufiPerings: all are men, 

Condemn 'd alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain, 

Th' unfeeling for his owti. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate, 
Since sorrow never comes too late, 
And happiness too swiftly flies? 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No more ; — where ignorance is bliss, 

'Tis folly to be wise. 

TJiomas Gray 



200* THE SHRUBBERY 

O happy shades ! to me unblest ! 

Friendly to peace, but not to me ! 
How ill the scene that offers rest. 

And heart that cannot rest, agree ! 

This glassy stream, that spreading pine, 
Those alders quivering to the breeze, 

Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, 
And please, if anything could please. 

But fix'd unalterable Care 

Foregoes not w^hat she feels wdthin. 



230 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Shows the same sadness everywhere, 
And slights the season and the scene. 

For all that pleased in wood or lawn 
While Peace possess 'd these silent bowers, 

Her animating smile withdrawn, 
Has lost its beauties and its powers. 

The saint or .moralist should tread 
This moss-grown alley, musing, slow; 

They seek like me the secret shade. 
But not, like me, to nourish woe ! 

Me, fruitful scenes and prospects waste 
Alike admonish not to roam ; 

These tell me of enjoyments past, 
And those, of sorrows yet to come. 
William Cowper 



201 HYMN TO ADVERSITY 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 
Thou tamer of the human breast, 

"Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 
The bad affright, afflict the best ! 

Bound in thy adamantine chain. 

The proud are taught to taste of pain ; 

And purple tyrants vainly groan 

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied nnd alone. 

When first thy Sire to send on earth 
Virtue, his darling child, design 'd. 

To thee he gave the heavenly birth 
And bade to form her infant mind. 



THOMAS GRAY 231 

Stern, rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore ; 
What sorrow was thou bad'st her know, 
And from her own she learn 'd to melt at others' woe. 

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 

And leave us leisure to be good. 
Light they disperse, and with them go 
The summer friend, the flattering foe ; 
By vain Prosperity received, 
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 

Wisdom in sable garb array 'd. 

Immersed in rapturous thought profound. 
And Melancholy, silent maid, 

With leaden eye that loves the ground. 
Still on thy solemn steps attend; 
Warm Charity, the general friend. 
With Justice, to herself severe. 
And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 



Oh ! gently on thy suppliant 's head 

Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand ! 
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 

Not circled with the vengeful band, 
(As by the impious thou art seen) 
With thundering voice, and threatening mien. 
With screaming Horror's funeral cry, 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty :— 

Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear. 
Thy milder influence impart. 



232 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Thy philosophic train be there 

To soften, not to wound, my heart; 
The generous spark extinct revive, 
Teach me to love and to forgive, 
Exact my own defects to scan. 
What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. 

Thomas Gray 



202* THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER 
SELKIRK 

I am monarch of all I survey ; 
My right there is none to dispute ; 
From the centre all round to the sea 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

Solitude ! where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face? 
Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity 's reach, 
I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of speech ; 
I start at the sound of my own. 

The beasts that roam over the plain 
My form with indifference see, 
They are so unacquainted with man 
Their tameness is shocking to me. 

Society, Friendship, and Love, 
Divinely bestow 'd upon man. 
Oh, had I the wings of a dove, 



WILLIAM COWPER 233 

How soon would I taste you again ! 
My sorrows I then might assuage 
In the ways of religion and truth, 
Might learn from the wisdom of age, 
And be cheer 'd by the sallies of youth. 

Ye winds that have made me your sport, 

Convey to this desolate shore 

Some cordial, endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more: 

My friends, do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me? 

O tell me I yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 

How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 
Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind, 
And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land, 
In a moment I seem to be there ; 
But alas ! recollection at hand 
Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest. 
The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
Even here is a season of rest. 
And I to my cabin repair. 
There's mercy in every place. 
And mercy (encouraging thought!) 
Gives even affliction a grace 
And reconciles man to his lot. 

William Cowper 



234 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

203 TO MARY UNWIN 

Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, 
Such aid from Heaven as some have feign 'd they drew, 
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 
And undebased by praise of meaner things, 
That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings, 
I may record thy worth with honour due, 
hi verse as musical as thou art true, 
And that immortalizes whom it sings : — 
But thou hast little need. There is a Book 
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 
On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 
A chronicle of actions just and bright — 
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; 
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. 

William Coivper 

204 TO THE SAME 

The twentieth year is well-nigh past 
Since first our sky was overcast ; 
Ah would that this might be the last! 
My Mary ! 

Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
I see thee daily weaker grow — 
'Twas my distress that brought thee low. 
My Mary ! 

Thy needles, once a shining store. 
For my sake restless heretofore. 
Now rust disused and shine no more ; 
My Mary ! 



WILLIAM COWPER 235 

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still, 
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 
My Mary! 

But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, 
And all thy threads with magic art 
Have wound themselves about this heart. 
My Mary ! 

Thy indistinct expressions seem 
Like language utter 'd in a dream; 
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 
My Mary ! 

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 
My Mary ! 

For could I view nor them nor thee, 
What sight worth seeing could I see? 
The sun would rise in vain for me. 
My Mary ! • 

Partakers of thy sad decline, 
Thy hands their little force resign ; 
Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, 
My Mary! 

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st 
That now at every step thou mov'st 
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st. 
My Mary! 



236 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And still to love, though prest with ill, 
In wintry age to feel no chill, 
With me is to be lovely still. 
My Mary ! 

But ah ! by constant heed I know 
How oft the sadness that I show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 
My Mary ! 

And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past, 
Thy worn-out heart will break at last — 
My Mary ! 

William Coiuper 



205 THE CASTAWAY 

Obscurest night involved the sky 
The Atlantic billows roar'd. 

When such a destined wretch as I, 
Wash 'd headlong from on board, 

Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 

His floating home for ever left. 

No braver chief could Albion boast 
Than he with whom he went. 

Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 
With warmer wishes sent ; 

He loved them both, but both in vain, 

Nor him beheld, nor her again. 

Not long beneath the whelming brine, 
Expert to swim, he lay ; 



WILLIAM COWPER 237 

Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 

Or courage die away; 
But waged with death a lasting strife, 
Supported by despair of life. 

He shouted ; nor his friends had fail 'd 

To check the vessel 's course. 
But so the furious blast prevail'd, 

That, pitiless perforce, 
They left their outcast mate behind, 
And scudded still before the wind. 

Some succour yet they could afford ; 

And such as storms allow. 
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 

Delay 'cl not to bestow. 
But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore, 
Whate'er they gave, should visit moPC. 

Nor, cruel as it seem 'd, could he 

Their haste himself condemn, 
Aw^are that flight, in such a sea, 

Alone could rescue them; 
Yet bitter felt it still to die 
Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long survives who lives an hour 

In ocean, self-upheld; 
And so long he, with unspent powe?, 

His destiny repell'd; 
And ever, as the minutes flew. 
Entreated help, or cried "Adieu!'' 

At length, his transient respite past, 
His comrades, who before 



238 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Had heard his voice in every blast, 
Could catch the sound no more ; 
For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
The stifling wave, and then he sank. 

No poet wept him ; but the page 

Of narrative sincere 
That tells his name, his worth, his age, 

Is wet with Anson 's tear ; 
And tears by bards or heroes shed 
Alike immortalize the dead. 

I therefore purpose not, or dream, 

Descanting on his fate, 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date ; 
But misery still delights to trace 
Its semblance in another 's case : 

No voice divine the storm allay 'd. 
No light propitious shone. 

When, snatch 'd from all effectual aid. 
We perish 'd, each alone; 

But I beneath a rougher sea. 

And whelm 'd in deeper gulfs than he. 
Williayn Cow per 



206 TOMORROW 

In the doAvnhill of life, when I find I 'm declining, 

May my fate no less fortunate be 
Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining, 

And a cot that o 'erlooks the wide sea : 



JOHN COLLINS 239 

With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, 

While I carol away idle sorrow, 
And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn 

Look forward with hope for Tomorrow. 

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too. 

As the sunshine or rain may prevail ; 
And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too. 

With a barn for the use of the flail ; 
A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, 

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow ; 
I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame, 

Or what honours may wait him Tomorrow. 

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely 

Secured by a neighbouring hill ; 
And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly 

By the sound of a murmuring rill ; 
And while peace and plenty I find at my board, 

With a heart free from sickness and sorrow. 
With my friends may I share what Today may afford. 

And let them spread the table Tomorrow. 

And when I at last must throw off this frail cov'ring 

Which I've worn for three-score years and ten, 
On the brink of the grave I '11 not seek to keep hov 'ring. 

Nor my thread wish to spin o 'er again ; 
But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey. 

And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow, 
As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare Today, 

May become Everlasting Tomorrow. 

John Collins 



240 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

207* 

Life ! I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou and I must part ; 
And when, or how, or where we met 
I own to me's a secret yet. 

Life! we've been long together 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — 
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear. 
— Then steal away, give little warning. 
Choose thine own time; 

Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime 
Bid me Good Morning. 

Anna Laetitia Barhauld 



BOOK FOUR 

208* TO THE MUSES 

Whether on Ida's shady brow, 
Or in the chambers of the East, 

The chambers of the sun, that now 
From ancient melody have ceased ; 

Whether in Heaven ye wander fair. 
Or the green corners of the earth, 

Or the blue regions of the air, 

Where the melodious winds have birth ; 

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove 
Beneath the bosom of the sea, 

Wandering in many a coral grove, — 
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry ; 

How have you left the ancient love 
That bards of old enjoy 'd in you ! 

The languid strings do scarcely move. 
The sound is forced, the notes are few. 
William Blake 



209 ODE ON THE POETS 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Have ye souls in heaven too. 
Doable-lived in regions new? 

241 



242 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

— Yes, and those of heaven commune 
With the spheres of sun and moon ; 
With the noise of fountains wond'rous 
And the parle of voices thund'rous; 
With the whisper of heaven 's trees 
And one another, in soft ease 
Seated on Elysian lawns 
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns; 
Underneath large blue-bells tented, 
Where the daisies are rose-scented, 
And the rose herself has got 
Perfume which on earth is not ; 
Where the nightingale doth sing 
Not a senseless, tranced thing. 
But divine melodious truth, 
Philosophic numbers smooth. 
Tales and golden histories 
Of heaven and its mysteries. 

Thus ye live on high, and then 
On the earth ye live again ; 
And the souls ye left behind you 
Teach us, here, the way to find you 
Where your other souls are joying, 
Never slumber 'd, never cloying. 
Here, your earth-born souls still speak 
To mortals, of their little week ; 
Of their sorrows and delights. 
Of their passions and their spites. 
Of their glory and their shame. 
What doth strengthen and what maim :- 
Thus ye teach us, every day. 
Wisdom, though fled far away. 



JOHN KEATS 243 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Ye have souls in heaven too, 
Double-lived in regions new ! 

John Keats 



210 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S 
HOMER 

Much have I travell 'd in the realms of gold 
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 
That deep-brow 'd Homer ruled as his demesne ; 
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold. 
— Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
When a new planet swims into his ken ; 
Or "like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise^ 
Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 

John Keats 



211* LOVE 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame. 



244 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er again that happy hour, 
When mid-way on the mount I lay, 
Beside the ruin'd tower. 

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 
Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy. 
My own dear Genevieve ! 

She lean'd against the armed man, 
The statue of the armed knight ; 
She stood and listen 'd to my lay. 
Amid the lingering light. 

Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
She loves me best whene'er I sing 
The songs that make her grieve. 

I play'd a soft and doleful air, 
I sang an old and moving story — 
An old rude song, that suited well 
That ruin wild and hoary. 

She listen 'd with a flitting blush. 
With downcast eyes and modest grace 
For well she knew I could not choose 
But gaze upon her face. 

I told her of the Knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he woo'd 
The Lady of the Land. 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 245 

I told her how he pined ; and ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love 
Interpreted my own. 

She listen 'd with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; 
And she forgave me that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face ! 

But when I told the cruel scorn 
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, 
And that he cross 'd the mountain- woods. 
Nor rested day nor night ; 

That sometimes from the savage den, 
And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
And sometimes starting up at once 
In green and sunny glade, — 

There came and look'd him in the face 
An angel beautiful and bright ; 
And that he knew it was a Fiend, 
This miserable Knight ! 

And that, unknowing what he did. 
He leap 'd amid a murderous band. 
And saved from outrage worse than death 
The Lady of the Land ; — 

And how she wept, and clasp 'd his knees ; 
And how she tended him in vain — 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 



246 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And that she nursed him in a cave, 
And how his madness went away, 
When on the yellow forest- leaves 
A dying man he lay ; — 

His dying words — but when I reach 'd 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
My faltering voice and pausing harp 
Disturb 'd her soul with pity ! 

All impulses of soul and sense 
Had thrill 'd my guileless Genevieve : 
The music and the doleful tale, 
The rich and balmy eve. 

And hopes, and fears that kindly hope. 
An undistinguishable throng, 
And gentle wishes long subdued, 
Subdued and cherish 'd long! 

She wept with pity and delight. 
She blush 'd with love, and virgin shame 
And like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard her breathe my name. 

Her bosom heaved — she stepp 'd aside, 
As conscious of my look she stept — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye 
She fled to me and wept. 

She half inclosed me with her arms. 
She press 'd me with a meek embrace; 
And bending back her head, look'd up. 
And gazed upon my face. 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 247 

'Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
AikI partly 'twas a bashful art 
That I might rather feel, than see, 
The swelling of her heart. 

I calm'd her fears, and she was calm. 
And told her love with virgin pride ; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous Bride. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge 



212 ALL FOR LOVE 

talk not to me of a name great in story : 

The days of our youth are the days of our glory ; 
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty 
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. 

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is 

wrinkled ? 
'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled ; 
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary — 
"What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory ? 

Oh Fame! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases 
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover 
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. 

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee ! 
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee ; 
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, 

1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 

Lord Byron 



248 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

213 THE OUTLAW 

Brignall banks are wild and fair, 
And Greta woods are green, 

And you may gather garlands there 

Would grace a summer-queen. 
And as I rode by Dalton-Hall 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A Maiden on the castle-wall 

Was singing merrily: 
* ' Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there 

Than reign our English queen." 

*'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me. 

To leave both tower and town, 
Thou first must guess what life lead we 

That dwell by dale and down. 
And if thou canst that riddle read. 

As read full well you may, 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 

As blithe as Queen of May." 
Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there 

Than reign our English queen. 

' ' I read you, by your bugle-horn 
And by your palfrey good, 

1 read you for a ranger sworn 

To keep the king's greenwood." 
"A Ranger, lady, winds his horn. 
And 'tis at peep of light ; 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 249 

His blast is heard at merry morn, 

And mine at dead of night ' ' 
Yet sung she, ''Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

''With burnish 'd brand and musketoon 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon 

That lists the tuck of dram." 
' ' I list no more the tuck of drum, 

No more the trumpet hear ; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum 

My comrades take the spear. 
And ! though Brignall banks be fair 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 

' ' Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I '11 die ; 
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I 'm with my comrades met 

Beneath the greenwood bough, — 
What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think what we are now. ' ' 

CJiorus 
Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gather garlands there 
Would grace a summer-queen. 

Sir Walter Scott 



250 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

214 There be none of Beauty's daughters 

With a magic like Thee ; 

And like music on the waters 

Is thy sweet voice to me : 
When, as if its sound were causing 
The charmed ocean's pausing, 
The waves lie still and gleaming, 
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming; 

And the midnight moon is weaving 
Her bright chain o'er the deep, 

Whose breast is gently heaving 
As an infant 's asleep : 

So the spirit bows before thee 

To listen and adore thee ; 

With a full but soft emotion, 

Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 
Lord Byron 



215* THE INDIAN SERENADE 

I arise from dreams of Thee 
In the first sweet sleep of night, 
AVhen the winds are breathing low 
And the stars are shining bright ; 
I arise from dreams of thee, 
And a spirit in my feet 
Hath led me — who knows how? 
To thy chamber- window, Sweet ! 

The wandering airs they faint 
On the dark, the silent stream — 
The champak odours fail 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 251 

Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
The nightingale's complaint 
It dies upon her heart, 
As I must die on thine, 

beloved as thou art ! 

Oh lift me from the grass ! 

1 die, I faint, I fail ! 

Let thy love in kisses rain 
On my lips and eyelids pale. 
My cheek is cold and white, alas ! «' 
My heart beats loud and fast ; 
Oh ! press it close to thine again 
Where it will break at last. 

Percy Bysslic Shelley 



216 She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 
And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; 
Thus mellow 'd to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half impair 'd the nameless grace 
Which waves in every raven tress 
Or softly lightens o 'er her face. 
Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek and o'er that brow 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. 

The smiles that win, the tints that glow 



252 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

But tell of days in goodness spent, — 
A mind at peace with all below, 
A heart whose love is innocent. 

Lord Byron 



217* She was a Phantom of delight 

When first she gleam 'd upon my sight : 
A lovely Apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament; 
Hel^ eyes as stars of twilight fair, 
Like Twilight 's, too, her dusky hair ; 
But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful dawn : 
A dancing shape, an image gay, 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin-liberty ; 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet; 

A creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food. 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles. 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 

The very pulse of the machine : 

A being breathing thoughtful breath, 

A traveller between life and death : 

The reason firm, the temperate will, 

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 253 

A perfect Woman, nobly piann'd 
To warn, to comfort, and command, 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel-light. 

William Wordsworth 



218* She is not fair to outward view 

As many maidens be; 
Her loveliness I never knew 

Until she smiled on me. 
O then I saw her eye was bright, 
A well of love, a spring of light. 

But now her looks are coy and cold, 
To mine they ne'er reply, 

And yet I cease not to behold 
The love-light in her eye : 

Her very frowns are fairer far 

Than smiles of other maidens are. 
Hartley Coleridge 



219* I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 
Thou needest not fear mine : 
My spirit is too deeply laden 
Ever to burthen thine. 



I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion ; 
Thou needest not fear mine : 
Innocent is the heart's devotion 
With which I worship thine. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



254 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

220* She dwelt among the untrodden ways 
Beside the sprmgs of Dove ; 
A maid whom there w^ere none to praise, 
And very few to love. 

A violet by a mossy stone 
Half hidden from the eye ! 

— Fair as a star, when only one 
Is shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy ceased to be ; 
But she is in her grave, and, oh, 

The difference to me ! 

William Wordsworth 



221* I travell'd among unknown men 
In lands beyond the sea; 
Nor, England I did I know till then 
What love I bore to thee. 

'Tis past, that melancholy dream! 

Nor will I quit thy shore 
A second time ; for still I seem 

To love thee more and more. 

Among thy mountains did I feel 

The joy of my desire ; 
And she I cherished turn'd her wheel 

Beside an English fire. 

Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd 
The bowers where Lucy play 'd ; 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 255 

And thine, too, is the hist green field 
That Lucy's eyes survey 'd. 

William Wordsiuorth 



222 THE EDUCATION OP NATURE 

Three years she grew in sun and shower; 
Then Nature said, ''A lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown ; 
This Child I to myself will take ; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 
A lady of my own. 

''Mj^self will to my darling be 

Both law and impulse ; and with me 

The girl, in rock and plain, 

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 

Shall feel an overseeing power 

To kindle or restrain. 

' ' She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 
Or up the mountain springs ; 
And hers shall be the breathing balm. 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate things. 

•'The floating clouds their state shall lend 

To her ; for her the willow bend ; 

Nor shall she fail to see 

Ev'n in the motions of the storm 

Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 

By silent sympathy. 



256 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

' ' The stars of midnight shall be dear 

To her ; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place 

"Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 

And beauty born of murmuring sound 

Shall pass into her face. 

' * And vital feelings of delight 
Shall rear her form to stately height, 
Her virgin bosom swell : 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
While she and I together live 
Here in this happy dell. ' ' 

Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 

How soon my Lucy 's race was run ! 

She died, and left to me 

This heath, this calm and quiet scene, 

The memory of what has been, 

And never more will be. 

William Wordsworth 



223 A slumber did my spirit seal ; 

I had no human fears: 
She seemed a thing that could not feel 
The touch of earthly years. 

No motion has she now, no force ; 

She neither hears nor sees ; 
Roird round in earth's diurnal course 

With rocks, and stones, and trees. 
William Wordsworth 



HENEY FRANCIS LYTE 257 

224* A LOST LOVE 

I meet thy pensive, moonlight face; 

Thy thrilling voice I hear ; 
And former hours and scenes retrace, 

Too fleeting, and too dear! 

Then sighs and tears flow fast and free, 

Though none is nigh to share ; 
And life has nought beside for me 

So sweet as this despair. 

There are crush 'd hearts that will not break ; 

And mine, methinks, is one, 
Or thus I should not weep and wake. 

And thou to slumber gone. 

I little thought it thus could be 

In days more sad and fair — 
That earth could have a place for me. 

And thou no longer there. 

Yet death cannot our hearts divide, 

Or make thee less my own : 
'Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side 

Than watching here alone ; 

Yet never, never can we part. 

While Memory holds her reign : 
Thine, thine is still this wither 'd heart. 

Till we shall meet again. 

Henry Francis Lyte 



258 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

225* LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER 

A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 
Cries ' ' Boatman, do not tarry ! 
And I'll give thee a silver pound 
To row us 'er the ferry ! ' ' 

''Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water ? ' ' 
''0 I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. 

''And fast before her father's men 
Three days we've fled together, 
For should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 

"His horsemen hard behind us ride — 
Should they our steps discover. 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride. 
When they have slain her lover?" 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
" I '11 go, my chief, I 'm ready : 
It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your winsome lady : — 

' ' And by my word ! the bonny bird 
In danger shall not tarry ; 
So, though the waves are raging white, 
I'll row you o'er the ferry." 

By this the storm grew loud apace. 
The water-wraith was shrieking ; 



THOMAS CAMPBELL 259 

And in the scowl of Heaven each face 
Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind, 
And as the night grew drearer, 
Adown the glen rode armed men, 
Their trampling sounded nearer. 

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, 
''Though tempests round us gather; 
I'll meet the raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father. ' ' 

The boat has left a stormy land, 
A stormy sea before her, — 
When, oh ! too strong for human hand 
The tempest gather 'd o 'er her. 

And still they row'd amidst the roar 
Of waters fast prevailing: 
Lord Ullin reach 'd that fatal shore, — 
His wrath was changed to wailing. 

For, sore dismay 'd, through storm and shade 
His child he did discover; — 
One lovely hand she stretch 'd for aid. 
And one was round her lover. 

' ' Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief, 
''Across this stormy water: 
And I '11 forgive your Highland chief. 
My daughter! — Oh, my daughter!" 

'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore, 
Return or aid preventing ; 



260 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The waters wild went o'er his child, 
And he was left lamenting. 

Thomas Campbell 



226 LUCY GRAY 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray ; 
And when I cross 'd the wild, 
I chanced to see at break of day 
The solitary child. 

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; 
She dwelt on a wide moor, 
The sweetest thing that ever grew 
Beside a human door! 

You yet may spy the fawn at play, 
The hare upon the green ; 
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 
Will never more be seen. 

*' To-night will be a stormy night — 
You to the town must go; 
And take a lantern. Child, to light 
Your mother through the snow." 

''That, Father! will I gladly do; 
'Tis scarcely afternoon — 
The minister-clock has just struck two 
And yonder is the moon!" 

At this the father raised his hook, 
And snapp 'd a faggot-band ; 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 261 

He plied his work ; — and Lucy took 
The lantern in her hand. 

Not blither is the mountain roe ; 
With many a wanton stroke 
Her feet disperse the powdery snow, 
That rises up like smoke. 

The storm came on before its time ; 
She wander 'd up and down, 
And many a hill did Lucy climb : 
But never reach 'd the town. 

The wretched parents all that night 
Went shouting far and wide; 
But there was neither sound nor sight 
To serve them for a guide. 

At day-break on a hill they stood 
That overlook 'd the moor, 
And thence they saw the bridge of wood 
A furlong from their door. 

They wept — and, turning homeward, cried 
* ' In heaven we all shall meet ! ' ' 
— When in the snow the mother spied 
The print of Lucy 's feet. 

Then downward from the steep hill's edge 
They track 'd the footmarks small ; 
And through the broken hawthorn hedge, 
And by the long stone-wall ; 

And then an open field they cross 'd : 
The marks were still the same ; 



262 THE COLDEN TREASURY 

They track 'd them on, nor ever lost: 
And to the bridge they came. 

They follow 'd from the snowy bank 
Those footmarks, one by one. 
Into the middle of the plank ; 
And further there were none ! 

— Yet some maintain that to this day 
She is a living child; 
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 
Upon the lonesome wild. 

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 
And never looks behind ; 
And sings a solitary song 
That whistles in the wind. 

William Wordsworik. 



227 JOCK OP HAZELDEAN 

"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? 

Why weep ye by the tide? 
I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye sail be his bride ; 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen ' ' — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Ilazeldean. 

''Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 
And dry that t-lioek so pnh^ : 



a 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 2G3 

Young Frank is chief of Errington 

And lord of Langley-dale 
His step is first in peaceful \u 

His sword in battle keen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa, 

For Jock of Ilazeldean. 

"A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair, 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
And you the foremost o' them a' 

Shall ride our forest-queen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa, 

For Jock of Ilazeldean. 

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 

The tapers glimmer 'd fair, 
The priest and bride-groom wait the bride. 

And dame and knight are there : 
They sought her baith by bower and ha ' ; 

The ladie was not seen ! 
She's o'er the Border, and awa' 

Wi ' Jock of Hazeldean. 

Sir Walter Scott 



228* LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY 

The fountains mingle with the river, 
And the rivers with the ocean. 
The winds of heaven mix for ever 
With a sweet emotion ; 
Nothing in the world is single. 



264 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

All things by a law divine 

In one another's being mingle — 

Why not I with thine ? 

See, the mountains kiss high heaven, 
And the waves clasp one another ; 
No sister-flower would be forgiven 
If it disdain 'd its brother ; 
And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
And the moon-beams kiss the sea — 
What are all these kissings worth, 
If thou kiss not me ? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



229 ECHOES 

How sweet the answer Echo makes 

To Music at night, 

When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes. 

And far away o'er lawns and lakes 

Goes answering light ! 

Yet Love hath echoes truer far 

And far more sweet 

Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, 

Of horn or lute or soft guitar 

The songs repeat. 

'Tis when the sigh, — in youth sincere 
And only then. 

The sigh that's breathed for one to hear — ^ 
Is by that one, that only Dear 
Breathed back again. Thomas Moore 



Sm WALTER SCOTT 265 

230* A SERENADE 

Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 

The sun has left the lea, 
The orange-flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day. 

Sits hush'd his partner nigh; 
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour — 

But where is County Guy? 

The village maid steals through the shade 

Her shepherd's suit to hear.; 
To Beauty shy, by lattice high, 

Sings high-born Cavalier. 
The stars of Love, all stars above. 

Now reigns o 'er earth and sky, 
And high and low the influence know — 

But where is County Guy? 

>Sf^V Walter Scott 



231* TO THE EVENING STAR 

Gem of the crimson-colour 'd Even, 
Companion of retiring day, 
"Why at the closing gates of heaven. 
Beloved Star, dost thou delay ? 

So fair thy pensile beauty burns 
When soft the tear of twilight flows 
So due thy plighted love returns 
To chambers brighter than the rose; 



266 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love 
So kind a star thou seem'st to be, — 
Sure some enamour 'd orb above 
Descends and burns to meet with thee. 

Thine is the breathing, blushing hour 
When all unheavenly passions fly. 
Chased by the soid-subduing power 
Of Love's delicious witchery. 

! sacred to the fall of day 
Queen of propitious stars, appear, 
And early rise, and long delay. 
When Caroline herself is here ! 

Shine on her chosen green resort 
Whose trees the sunward summit crown. 
And wanton flowers, that well may court 
An angel 's feet to tread them down ; 

Shine on her sweetly scented road. 
Thou star of evening's purple dome. 
That lead'st the nightingale abroad 
And guid'st the pilgrim to his home; 

Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath 
Embalms the soft exhaling dew, 
Where dying winds a sigh bequeath 
To kiss the cheek of rosy hue : — 

Where, winnow 'd by the gentle air, 
Her silken tresses darkly flow 
And fall upon her brow so fair. 
Like shadows on the mountain snow. 



THOMAS CAMPBELL 267 

Thus, ever thus, at day's decline, 
In converse sweet to wander far — 
bring with thee my Caroline, 
And thou shalt be my Ruling Star ! 

Thomas Campljell 



232 TO THE NIGHT 

Swiftly walk over the western wave, 

Spirit of Night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave 
Where, all the long and lone daylight, 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, 
Which make thee terrible and dear, — 

Swiftbe thy flight! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray. 

Star-inwrought ; 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out ; 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land, . 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 

Come, long-sought! 

When I arose and saw the dawn, 

I sigh 'd for thee ; 
When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. 
And the weary Day turn'd to his rest. 
Lingering like an unloved guest, 

I sigh'd for thee; 



268 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Thy brother Death came and cried, 

''Wouldstthoume?" 
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 
Murmur 'd like a noon-tide bee : 
' ' Shall I nestle near thy side ? 
Wouldst thou me?" — And I replied, 

''No, not thee!" 

Death will come when thou art dead, 

Soon, too soon — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
Swift be thine approaching flight, 

Come soon, soon ! 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 

233* TO A DISTANT FRIEND 

Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant 
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
Of absence withers what w^as once so fair? 
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? 
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant. 
Bound to thy service with unceasing care — 
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
For nought but. what thy happiness could spare. 
Speak! — though this soft warm heart, once free to hold 
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine. 
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 
Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow 
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — 
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know I 

William Wordsworth 



LORD BYRON 269 



234* When we two parted 

In silence and tears 
Half broken-hearted, 
To sever for years, 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 
Colder thy kiss : 
Truly that hour foretold 
Sorrow to this ! 

The dew of the morning 
Sunk chill on my brow ; 
It felt like the warning 
Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken, 
And light is thy fame : 
I hear thy name spoken 
And share in its shame. 

They name thee before me, 
A knell to mine ear ; 
A shudder comes o'er me — 
Why wert thou so dear? 
They know not I knew thee 
Who knew thee too well : 
Long, long shall I rue thee, 
Too deeply to tell. 

In secret we met: 

In silence I grieve 

That thy heart could forget. 

Thy spirit deceive. 

If I should meet thee 

After long years, 



270 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

How should I greet thee? — 
With silence and tears. , 

Lord Byron 



235* HAPPY INSENSIBILITY 

In a drear-nighted December, 

Too happy, happy tree, 

Thy branches ne'er remember 

Their green felicity: 

The north cannot undo them 

With a sleety whistle through them, 

Nor frozen thawings glue them 

From budding at the prime. 

In a drear-nighted December, 
Too happy, happy brook, 
Thy bubblings ne'er remember 
Apollo's summer look; 
But with a sweet forgetting 
They stay their crystal fretting, 
Never, never petting 
About the frozen time. 

Ah! would 'twere so with many 
A gentle girl and boy ! 
But were there ever any 
Writhed not at passed joy? 
To know the change and •feel it, 
When there is none to heal it 
Nor numbed sense to steal it — 
Was never said in rhyme. 

John Keats 



236 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 271 



Where shall the lover rest 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast, 

Parted for ever ? 
Where, through groves deep and high 

Sounds the far billow, 
Where early violets die 

Under the willow. 
Eleu loro 

Soft shall he his pillow. 

There, through the summer day 

Cool streams are laving; 
There, while the tempests sway, 

Scarce are boughs waving; 
There thy rest shalt thou take, 

Parted for ever. 
Never again to wake 

Never, never ! 
Eleu loro 

Never, never! 

Where shall the traitor rest. 

He, the deceiver. 
Who could win maiden's breast, 

Ruin, and leave her? 
In the lost battle, 

Borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying ; 
Eleu loro 

There shall he he lying. 



272 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the falsehearted; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap 

Ere life be parted ; 
Shame and dishonour sit 

By his grave ever ; 
Blessing shall hallow it 

Never, never ! 
Eleu loro 

Never, never! 

Sir Walter Scott 



237 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 

'*0 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
Alone and palely loitering? 

The sedge has wither 'd from the lake 
And no birds sing. 

*'0 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! 

So haggard and so woe-begone? 
The squirrel's granary is full, 

And the harvest's done. 

*^I see a lily on thy brow 

With anguish moist and fever-dew, 

And on thy cheeks a fading rose 
Fast withereth too." 

*'I met a lady in the meads, 
Full beautiful — a faery's child, 

Her hair was long, her foot was light. 
And her eyes were wild. 



JOHN KEATS 273 

**I made a garland for her head, 

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; 

She look'd at me as she did love, 
And made sweet moan. 

*^I set her on my pacing steed 

And nothing else saw all day long. 

For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
A faery's song. 

*'She found me roots of relish sweet. 
And honey wild and manna-dew, 

And sure in language strange she said 
*I love thee true.' 

''She took me to her elfin grot. 

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore^ 

And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 
With kisses four. 

''And there she lulled me asleep. 

And there I dream 'd — Ah ! woe betide ! 

The latest dream I ever dream 'd 
On the cold hill's side. 

"I saw pale kings and princes too, 
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; 

They cried — 'La belle Dame sans Merci 
Hath thee in thrall ! ' 

"I saw their starved lips in the gloam 
With horrid warning gaped wide, 

And I awoke and found me here 
On the cold hill's side. 



274 THE (iOLDEN TREASURY 

''And this is wiiy I sojourn liere 
Alone and palely loitering-, 

Thong'h the sedge is withered from the lake, 
And no birds sing." 

Jolin Keats 



238* THE ROVER 

''A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A Aveary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 

And press the rue for wine. 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green — 

No more of me you knew, 
My Love ! 
No more of me you knew. 

''This morn in merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turn'd his charger as he spake 

Upon the river shore. 
He gave the bridle-reins a shake, 

Said "Adieu for evermore. 
My Love ! 
And adieu for evermore." 

Sir Walter Scott 



PERCY ]?YSSiiK siti:llkv 275 

239 THE FLIGHT OF LOVE 

When the lamp is shatter 'd, 
The light in the dust lies dead ; 
When the cloud is scatter 'd, 
The rainbow 's glory is shed ; 
When the lute is broken, 
Sweet tones are remember 'd not; 
When the lips have spoken, 
Loved accents arc soon forgot. 

As music and splendour 

Survive not the lamp and the lute, 

The heart's echoes render 

No song w^hen the spirit is mute — 

No song but sad dirges. 

Like the wind through a ruin'd cell, 

Or the mournful surges 

That ring the dead seaman's knell. 

When hearts have once mingled, 

Love first leaves the well-built nest ; 

The weak one is singled 

To endure what it once possesst. 

Love ! w^ho bewailest 

The frailty of all things here, 

Why choose you the frailest 

For your cradle, your home, and your bier? 

Its passions will roclv thee, 

As the storms rock the ravens on high; 

Bright reason will mock thee, 



276 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Like the sun from a wintry sky. 
From thy nest every rafter 
Will rot, and thine eagle home 
Leave thee naked to laughter, 
When leaves fall and cool winds come. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



240 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH 

lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 

And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
And love, in life 's extremity, 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower 

And slow decay from mourning. 
Though now she sits on Neidpath's toAver 

To watch her Love's returning. 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 

Her form decay 'd by pining, 
Till through her wasted hand, at night, 

You saw the taper shining. 
By fits a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek was fljdng ; 
By fits so ashy pale she grew 

Her maidens thought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear 
Seem'd in her frame residing: 

Before the watch-dog prick 'd his ear, 
She heard her lover's riding ; 

Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd. 
She knew and Avaved to greet him 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 277 

And o'er the battlement did bend 
As on the wing to meet him. 

He came — he pass 'd — an heedless gaze 

As o 'er some stranger glancing ; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, 

Lost in his courser's prancing — 
The castle-arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken. 
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 

Which told her heart was broken. 

Sir Walter Scott 

241* 

Earl March look'd on his dying child. 

And, smit with grief to view her — 
''The youth," he cried, ''whom I exiled 
Shall be restored to woo her.'* 

She's at the windoAv many an hour 

His coming to discover : 
And he look'd up to Ellen's bower 

And she look'd on her lover — 

But ah ! so pale, he knew her not, 

Though her smile on him was dwelling — 

"And am I then forgot — forgot?" 
It broke the heart of Ellen. 

In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs. 

Her cheek is cold as ashes; 
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes 

To lift their silken lashes. 

Thomas Campbell 



278 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

242* 

Bright Star ! would I were steadfast as thou art — 
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, 
And watching, with eternal lids apart. 
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, 
The moving waters at their priestlike task 
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores. 
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask 
Of snow, upon the mountains and the moors : — 
No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, 
-Pillow 'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast, 
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, 
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest. 
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath. 
And so live ever, — or else swoon to death. 

John Keats 

243 THE TEREOR OF DEATH 

When I have fears that I may cease to be 
Before my pen has glean 'd my teeming brain. 
Before high-piled books in charact'ry. 
Hold, like rich garners, the full-ripen 'd grain; 
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 
Huge, cloudy symbols of a high romance, 
And think that I may never live to trace 
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance ; 
And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour ! 
That I shall never look upon thee more, 
Never have relish in the faery power 
Of unreflecting love — then on the shore 
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think. 
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. 

John Keats 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 279 

244 DESIDERIA 

Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind — 

I tiirn'd to share the transport— Oh ! with Avhom 

But Thee — deep buried in the silent tomb, 

That spot which no vicissitude can find? 

Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind — 

But how^ could I forget thee ? Through what power. 

Even for the least division of an hour. 

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind 

To my most grievous loss ! — That thought 's return 

Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore 

Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, 

Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; 

That neither present time, nor years unborn 

Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. 

William Wordsworilt 



245* 

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, 

I fly 

To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in 

thine eye ; 
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions 

of air 
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to 

me there 
And tell me our love is remember 'd, even in the sky! 

Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear 
When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on 
the ear; 



280 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

xVnd as Eclio far oft* tlirough the valo my sad orison 
rolls, 

I tliiuk, oh my Love ! 'tis thy voice, from the King- 
dom of Souls 

Fahitly answering still the notes that once were so 
dear. 

Thomas Moore 



246* ELEGY OX THYRZA 

And thou art dead, as young and fair 

As aught of mortal birth ; 
And form so soft and charms so rare 

Too soon return 'd to Earth! 
Though Earth received them in her bed, 
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 

Li carelessness or mirth, 
There is an eye which could not brook 
A moment on that grave to look. 

I will not ask where thou liest low 

Nor gaze upon the spot : 
There flowers or weeds at will may grow 

So I behold them not ; 
It is enough for me to prove 
That what I loved, and long must love. 

Like common earth can rot ; 
To me there needs no stone to tell 
'Tis Nothing, that I loved so well. 

Yet did I love thee to the last, 
As fervently as thou, 



LORD BYRON 281 

Who didst not change through all the past 

And canst not alter now. 
The love where Death has set his seal 
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 

Nor falsehood disavow; 
And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. 

The better days of life were ours ; 

The worst can be but mine : 
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours. 

Shall never more be thine. 
The silence of that dreamless sleep 
I envy noAv too much to weep; 

Nor need I to repine 
That all those charms have pass'd aAvay 
I might have watch 'd through long decay. 

The flower in ripen 'd bloom unmatch'd 

Must fall the earliest prey ; 
Though by no hand untimely snatch 'd, 

The leaves must drop away. 
And yet it were a greater grief 
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf. 

Than see it pluck 'd today. 
Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
To trace the change to foul from fair. 

I know not if I could have borne 

To see thy beauties fade ; 
The night that follow 'd such a morn 

Had worn a deeper shade: 
Thy day without a cloud hath past. 



282 '^HE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And tliou wcrt lovely to the last, 

Extinguisli 'd, not decay 'd; 
As stars that shoot along the sky 
Shine brighest as they fall from high. 

As once I wept, if I conld weep, 

My tears might well be shed 
To think I was not near, to keep 

One vigil o'er thy bed: 
To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, 
To fold thee in a faint embrace, 

Uphold thy drooping head. 
And show that love, however vain. 
Nor thou nor I can feel again. 

Yet how much less it were to gain, 
(Though thou hast left me free) 
The loveliest things that still remain 

Than thus remember thee ! 
The all of thine that cannot die 
Through dark and dread Eternity 

Returns again to me. 
And more thy buried love endears 
Than aught except its living years. 

Lord Byron 



247 



One word is too often profaned 

For me to profane it; 
One feeling too falsely disdain 'd 

For thee to disdain it; 
One hope is too like despair 

For prudence to smother ; 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 283 

And pity from thee more dear 
Than that from another. 



I can give not what men call love; 

But wilt thou accept not 
The worship the heart lifts above 

And the Heavens reject not : 
The desire of the moth for the star, 

Of the night for the morrow, 
The devotion to something afar 

From the sphere of our sorrow? 
Percy Bysslie Shelley 



248* GATHERING SONG OP DONALD THE BLACK 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 

Summon Clan Conuil. 
Come away, come away, 

Hark to the summons! 
Come in your war-array. 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky ; 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Tnverlocky. 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one, 
Come QYQ.vy steel blade, and 

Strong hand that bears one. 



284 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Leave untended the herd, 

The flock without shelter; 
Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 

The bride at the altar; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords, and targes. 

Come as the winds come, Avhen 

Forests are rended, 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come. 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page, and groom, 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle plume 

Blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 

Forward each man set! 
Pibroch and Donuil Dhu 

Knell for the onset! 

Sir Walter Scott 



249^ 



A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 

A wind that follows fast 
And fills the white and rustling sail 

And bends the gallant mast ; 



250 



ALLEN CUNNINGHAM 285 

And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 

While, like the eagle free. 
Away the good ship flies, and leaves 

Old England on the lee. 

*'0 for a soft and gentle wind!" 

I heard a fair one cry : 
But give to me the snoring breeze 

And white waves heaving high ; 
And white waves heaving high, my lads, 

The good ship tight and free — 
The world of waters is our home, . 

And merry men are we. 

There's tempest in yon horned moon, 

And lightning in yon cloud ; 
But hark the music, mariners! 

The wind is piping loud : 
The wind is piping loud, my boys, 

The lightning flashes free — 
While the hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea. 

Allen Cunningham 



Ye Mariners of England, 

That guard our native seas ! 

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 

The Imttle and the breeze I 

Your glorious standard launch again 

To match another foe; 

And sweep through the deep. 

While the stormy winds do blow; 



286 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

While the battle rages loud and long 
And the stormy winds do blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave — 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And Ocean w^as their grave ; 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 

As ye sweep through the deep. 

While the stormy Avinds do blow ; 

While the battle rages loud and long 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

Britannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep; 

Her march is o'er the mountain-waves. 

Her home is on the deep. 

With thunders from her native oak 

She quells the floods below — 

As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy winds do blow ; 

When the battle rages loud and long. 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

The meteor flag of England 
Shall yet terrific burn; 
Till danger's troubled night depart 
And the star of peace return. 
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 
Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name. 
When the storm has ceased to blow : 



THOMAS CAMPBELL 287 

When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
And the storm has ceased to blow. 

Thomas Camphell 



251 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 

Of Nelson and the North 

Sing the glorious day's renown, 

When to battle fierce came forth 

All the might of Denmark's crown. 

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; 

By each gun the lighted brand 

In a bold determined hand, 

And the Prince of all the land 

Led them on 

Like leviathans afloat 

Lay their bulwarks on the brine, 

While the sign of battle flew 

On the lofty British line. 

It was ten of April morn by the chime. 

As they drifted on their path, 

There was silence deep as death. 

And the boldest held his breath 

For a time. 

But the might of Engand flush 'd 
To anticipate the scene; 
And her van the fleeter rush'd 
O'er the deadly space between. 
''Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when each 
gun 



288 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

From its adamantine lips 

Spread a death-shade round the ships, 

Like the hurricane eclipse 

Of the sun. 

Again! again! again! 

And the havoc did not slack, 

Till a feeble cheer the Dane 

To our cheering sent us back; — 

Their shots along the deep slowly boom; — 

Then ceased — and all is wail, 

As they strike the shatter 'd sail. 

Or in conflagration pale 

Light the gloom. 

Out spoke the victor then 

As he hail'd them o'er the wave, 

**Ye are brothers! ye are men! 

And we conquer but to save: — 

So peace instead of death let us bring; 

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 

With the crews, at England's feet, 

And make submission meet 

To our King." 

Then Denmark bless 'd our chief 

That he gave her wounds repose; 

And the sounds of joy and grief 

From her people wildy rose. 

As death withdrew his shades from the day 

While the sun look'd smiling bright 

O'er a wide and woeful sight. 

Where the fires of funeral light 

Died away. 



THOMAS CAMPBELL 289 

Now joy, old England, raise ! 

For the tidings of thy might, 

By the festal cities' blaze, 

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; 

And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 

Let us think of them that sleep 

Full many a fathom deep 

By thy wild and stormy steep, 

Elsinore ! 

Brave hearts ! to Britain 's pride 

Once so faithful and so true. 

On the deck of fame that died. 

With the gallant, good Eiou : 

Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o 'er their grave ! 

While the billow mournful rolls 

And the mermaid's song condoles. 

Singing glory to the souls 

Of the brave ! 

Thomas Campbell 

252 ODE TO DUTY 

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! 
Duty ! if that name thou love, 
Who art a light to guide, a rod 
To check the erring, and reprove ; 
Thou who art victory and law 
When empty terrors overaAve ; 
From vain temptations dost set free. 
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! 

There are who ask not if thine eye 

Be on them; who, in love and truth 



290 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth : 
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot, 
Who do thy work, and know it not: 
! if through confidence misplaced 
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ! around them 
cast. 

Serene will be our days and bright 
And happy will our nature be. 
When love is an unerring light. 
And joy its own security ; 
And they a blissful course may hold 
Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold. 
Live in the spirit of this creed, 
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried. 
No sport of every random gust. 
Yet being to myself a guide. 
Too blindly have reposed my trust ; 
And oft, when in my heart was heard 
Thy timely mandate, I deferred 
The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul 
Or strong compunction in me w^rought, 
I supplicate for thy controul. 
But in the quietness of thought : 
Me this uncharter'd freedom tires; 
I feel the weight of chance-desires : 
My hopes no more must change their name ; 
I long for a repose that ever is the same. 



WILLIAIM WORDSWORTH 291 

Stem LaAvgivcr! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace; 
Nor know we anything so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face : 
FloAvers laugh before thee on their beds, 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; 
And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, are fresh 
and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful Power ! 
I call thee : I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
Oh let my weakness have an end ! 
Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
The confidence of reason give; 
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live. 

William Wo rds ivorth 



253* ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind ! 
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art, 
For there thy habitation is the heart — 
The heart which love of Thee alone can bind ; 
And when thy sons to fetters are consign 'd, 
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom. 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 
Chillon! thy prison is a holy place 
And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod. 



292 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Until his very steps have left a trace 
Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God. 

Lord Byron 

254* ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1802 

Two Voices are there : one is of the Sea, 

One of the Mountains ; each a mighty voice : 

In both from age to age thou didst rejoice, 

They were thy chosen music, Liberty! 

There came a tyrant, and with holy glee 

Thou fought 'st against him, — but hast vainly striven: 

Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, 

Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 

— Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft; 

Then cleave, cleave to that which still is left — 

For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be 

That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 

And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 

And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee ! 

William Wordsworth 

255* ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN 
REPUBLIC 

Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 
And was the safeguard of the West ; the worth 
Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
Venice, the eldest child of Liberty. 
She was a maiden city, bright and free ; 
No guile seduced, no force could violate; 
And when she took unto herself a mate, 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 293 

She miist espouse the everlasting Sea. 

And what if she had seen those glories fade, 

Those titles vanish, and that strength decay, — 

Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 

When her long life hath reach 'd its final day: 

Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade 

Of that which once was great is pass'd away. 

William Wordsivorth 

256* LONDON, 1802 

Friend ! I know not which way I must look 
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest 
To think that now our life is only drest 
For show: mean handi-work of craftsman, cook, 
Or groom! — We must run glittering like a brook 
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest ; 
The wealthiest man among us is the best : 
No grandeur now, in nature or in book. 
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense. 
This is idolatry ; and these we adore : 
Plain living and high thinking, are no more; 
The homely beauty of the good old cause 
Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence. 
And pure religion breathing household laws. 

William Wordsworth 

257* 

Milton! thoii shouldst be living at this hour: 

England hath need of thee; she is a fen 

Of stagnant waters; altar, sword, and pen, 

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower. 

Have forfeited their ancient English dower 

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; 



294 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Oh! raise us up, return to us again; 

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart ; 

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea. 

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; 

So didst thou travel on life 's common way 

In cheerful godliness; and yet the heart 

The loAvliest duties on herself did lay. 

William Wordsworth 

258* 

When I have borne in memory what has tamed 

Great nations; how ennobling thoughts depart 

When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 

The student's bower for gold, — some fears unnamed 

I had, my Country! — am I to be blamed? 

Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art. 

Verily, in the bottom of my heart 

Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. 

For dearly must we prize thee, we who find 

In thee a bulwark for the cause of men; 

And I by my affection was beguiled : 

What wonder if a Poet now and tlien. 

Among the many movements of his mind. 

Felt for thee as a lover or a child ! 

WilliaDi Wordsirorth 



259 HOHENLINDEN 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow 
And dark as Avinter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 



THOMAS CAMPBELL 295 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When tlic drum beat at dead of night, 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast array 'd 
Eacli horseman draAv his battk^-blade. 
And furious every charger neigh 'd 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thundre riven ; 
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven; 
And louder than the bolts of Heaven 
Far Hashed the red artillery. 

But redder yet that light shall glow 
On Linden's hills of stained snow, 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun. 
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye Brave 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

Few, few shall part, where many meet! 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 

Thomas Camphell 



296 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

260 AFTER BLENHEIM 

It was a summer evening, 

Old Kaspar's work was done, 

And lie before his cottage door 
Was sitting in the sun; 

And by him sported on the green 

His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 

She saw her brother Peterkin 

Roll something large and round, 

Which he beside the rivulet 
In playing there had found; 

He came to ask what he had found 

That was so large and smooth and round. 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy 

Who stood expectant by; 
And then the old man shook his head. 

And with a natural sigh 
*' 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 
*'Who fell in the great victory. 

*^I find them in the garden. 
For there's many here about; 

And often when I go to plough 
The ploughshare turns them out. 

For many thousand men," said he, 

* ' Were slain in that great victory. ' ' 

^'Now tell us what 'twas all about," 

Young Peterkin he cries ; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder-waiting eyes : 



ROBERT SOUTHEY 

*'Now tell us all about the war, 

And what they fought each other for." 

''It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
' ' Who put the French to rout ; 

But what they fought each other for 
I couJd not well make out. 

But everybody said," quoth he, 

''That 'twas a famous victory. 

"My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground. 

And he was forced to fly ; 
So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 

"With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide. 
And many a childing mother then 

And newborn baby died: 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 

"They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won ; 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun: 
But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 

"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won 
And our good Prince Eugene ; ' ' 

"Why 'twas a very wicked thing!" 
Said little Wilhelmine; 



297 



298 THE (GOLDEN TREASURY 

''Nay . . nay . . my little girl," quotli he, 
''It was a famous victory. 

"And everybody praised the Duke 
Who this great fight did win." 

"But what good came of it at last?" 
Quoth little Peterkin: — 

"Why that I cannot tell," said he, 

"But 'twas a famous victory." 

Robert Southey 



261 PRO P ATRIA MORI 

When he who adores thee has left but the name 

Of his fault and his sorrows behind. 
Oh ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame 

Of a life that for thee was resign 'd ! 
Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn. 

Thy tears shall efface their decree; 
For, Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 

I have been but too faithful to thee. 

With thee w^ere the dreams of my earliest love; 

Every thought of my reason was thine: 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine ! 
Oh ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 

The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 

Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 

Tlwmas Moore 



CHARLES WOLFE 299 

262^= THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT 
CORUNNA 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corpse to the rampart we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning, 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light 

And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead. 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hollow 'd his narrow bed 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o 'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 

In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; 



300 T'HE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, 
But we left him alone with his glory. 

Charles Wolfe 



263* SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN 

In the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, 
An old man dwells, a little man, — 
'Tis said he once was tall. 
Full five-and-thirty years he lived 
A running huntsman merry ; 
And still the centre of his cheek 
Is red as a ripe cherry. 

No man like him the horn could sound. 

And hill and valley rang with glee, 

When Echo bandied round and round 

The halloo of Simon Lee. 

In those proud days he little cared 

For husbandry or tillage; 

To blither tasks did Simon rouse 

The sleepers of the village. 

He all the country could outrun, 
Could leave both man and horse behind; 
And often, ere the chase was done 
He reel'd and was stone-blind. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 301 

And still there's something in the world 
At which his heart rejoices ; 
For when the chiming hounds are out, 
He dearly loves their voices. 

But oh the heavy change ! — bereft 

Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see! 

Old Simon to the world is left 

In liveried poverty: — 

His master 's dead, and no one now 

Dwells in the Hall of Ivor; 

Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; 

He is the sole survivor. 

And he is lean and he is sick, 

His body, dwindled and awry. 

Rests upon ankles swoln and thick; 

His legs are thin and dry. 

One prop he has, the only one, — 

His wife, an aged w^oman. 

Lives with him, near the waterfall, 

Upon the village common. 

Beside their moss-growai hut of clay. 
Not twenty paces from the door, 
A scrap of land they have, but they 
Are poorest of the poor. 
This scrap of land he from the heath 
Enclosed when he was stronger; 
But what to him avails the land 
Which he can till no longer? 

Oft, w^orking by her husband's side, 
Ruth does what Simon cannot do; 



302 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

For she, with scanty cause for pride, 

Is stouter of the two. 

And, though you with your utmost skill 

From labour could not wean them, 

'Tis little, very little, all 

That they can do betAveen them. 

Few months of life has he in store 

As he to you will tell. 

For still, the more he works, the more 

Do his weak ankles swell. 

My gentle Reader, I perceive 

How patiently you've waited 

And now I fear that you expect 

Some tale will be related. 



Reader ! had you in your mind 

Such stores as silent thought can brinj 

gentle Reader ! you would find 

A tale in every thing. 

What more I have to say is short. 

And you must kindly take it; 

It is no tale ; but, should you think. 

Perhaps a tale you'll make it. 

One summer-day I chanced to see 
This old Man doing all he could 
To unearth the root of an old tree. 
A stump of rotten wood. 
The mattock totter 'd in his hand; 
So vain was his endeavour 
That at the root of the old tree 
He might have Avork'd for ever. 



WILLIAIM WORDSWORTH 303 

''You're overtask 'd, good Simon Lee, 

Give me your tool, ' ' to him I said ; 

And at the word right gladly he 

Received my proffer 'd aid. 

I struck, and with a single blow 

The tangled root I sever 'd 

At which the poor old man so long 

And vainly had endeavour 'd. 

The tears into his eyes were brought, 

And thanks and praises seem'd to run 

So fast out of his heart, I thought 

They never would have done. 

— I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds 

With coldness still returning; 

Alas ! the gratitude of men 

Hath oftener left me mourning. 

William Wordsworth 



264 THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 

I have had playmates, I have had companions, 

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; 

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have been laughing, I have been carousing, 
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I loved a Love once, fairest among women : 

Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her — 

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 



304 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; 
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ; 
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 

Ghost-like, I paced round the haunts of my childhood, 
Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, 
Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, 
Why wert not thou born in my father 's dwelling ? 
So might we talk of the old familiar faces. 

How some they have died, and some they have left me, 
And some are taken from me; all are departed; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

Charles Lmnh 



265* THE JOURNEY ONWARDS 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving. 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear isle 'twas leaving. 
So loth we part from all we love. 

From all the links that bind us; 
So turn our hearts, as on we rove. 

To those we've left behind us! 

When, round the bowl, of vanished years 
We talk with joyous seeming — 

With smiles that might as well be tears 
So faint, so sad their beaming; 



THOMAS MOORE 305 

While memory brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we've left behind us! 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting, 
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet. 

And nought but love is wanting ; 
We think how great had been our bliss 

If Heaven had but assign 'd us 
To live and die in scenes like this, 

With some we've left behind us! 

As travellers oft look back at eve 

When eastward darkly going, 
To gaze upon that light they leave 

Still faint behind them glowing, — 
So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consign 'd us, 
We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that's left behind us. 

Thomas Moore 



266* YOUTH AND AGE 

There's not a joy the world can give like that it 

takes away 
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's 

dull decay; 
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, 

which fades so fast. 
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth 

itself be past. 



306 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of 

happiness 
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt, or ocean of excess: 
The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in 

vain 
The shore to which their shiver 'd sail shall never 

stretch again. 

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself 

comes down; 
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its 

own; 
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our 

tears. 
And though the e^^e may sparkle still, 'tis where the 

ice appears. 

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth 

distract the breast. 
Through midnight hours that yield no more their 

former hope of rest; 
'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, 
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and 

gray beneath. 

Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, 
Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a 

vanish 'd scene, — 
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish 

though they be. 
So midst the wither 'd waste of life, those tears would 

flow, to me ! 

Lord Bijron 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH oQy 

267 A LESSON 

There is a Flower, the lesser Celandme, 
That shrmks like many more from cold and rain, 
And the first moment that the sun may shine. 
Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again! 

When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm. 
Or 'blasts the green field and the trees distrest. 
Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm 
In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. 

But lately, one rough day, this Flower I past. 
And recognized it, though an alter 'd form, 
Now standing forth an offering to the blast. 
And buffeted at will by rain and storm. 

I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter 'd voice, 
''It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold; 
This neither is its courage nor its choice. 
But its necessity in being old. 

''The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew^; 
It cannot help itself in its decay; 
Stiff in its members, wither 'd, changed of hue," — • 
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray. 

To be a prodigal's favourite— then, worse truth, 
A miser's pensioner — behold our lot! 
Man ! that from thy fair and shining youth 
Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! 

William Words worth 



308 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

268* PAST AND PRESENT 

I remember, I remember 
The house where I was born, 
The little window, where the sun 
Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon 
Nor brought too long a day; 
But now, I often wish the night 
Had borne my breath away. 

I remember, I remember 

The roses, red and white. 

The violets, and the lily-cups — 

Those flowers made of light! 

The lilacs where the robin built. 

And where my brother set 

The laburnum on his birth-day, — 

The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swing, 

And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing; 

My spirit flew in feathers then 

That is so heavy now. 

And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow. 

I remember, I remember 
The fir trees dark and high; 
I used to think their slender tops 
Were close against the sky: 
It was a childish ignorance, 



THOMAS HOOD 309 

But now 'tis little joy 

To know I 'm farther off from Heaven 

Than when I was a boy. 

Thomas Hood 



269* THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS 

Oft in the stilly night 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me : 
The smiles, the tears 
Of boyhood's years. 
The words of love then spoken ; 
The eyes that shone, 
Now'dimm'd and gone. 
The cheerful hearts now broken! 
Thus in the stilly night 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

When I remember all 

The friends so link'd together 
I've seen around me fall 

Like leaves in wintry weather, 

I feel like one 

Who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted. 

Whose lights are fled 

Whose garlands dead, 
And all but he departed! 



310 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Thus in the stilly night 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 

Of other days around me. 

Thomas Moore 



270 STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR 
NAPLES 

The sun is warm, the sky is clear. 
The waves are dancing fast and bright. 
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear 
The purple noon's transparent might; 
The breath of the moist earth is light 
Around its unexpanded buds ; 
Like many a voice of one delight — 
The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods' — 
The city's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. 

I see the deep's untrampled floor 
With green and purple sea-Aveeds strown; 
I see the waves upon the shore 
Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown: 
I sit upon the sands alone ; 
The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 
Is flashing round me, and a tone 
Arises from its measured motion — 
How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion. 

Alas ! I have not hope nor health. 
Nor peace within or calm around, 
Nor that content, surpassing wealth. 
The sage in meditation found, 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ^n 

And walk'd with inward glory crown 'd — 
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ; 
Others I see whom these surround — 
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; 
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. 

Yet now despair itself is mild 
Even as the winds and waters are : 
I could lie down like a tired child, 
And weep away the life of care 
Which I have borne, and yet must bear, — 
Till death, like sleep, might steal on me. 
And I might feel in the warm air 
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. 

Percy Bijsshe Shelly 



271* THE SCHOLAR 

My days among the Dead are past; 

Around me I behold. 

Where'er tliese casual eyes are cast. 

The mighty minds of old: 

My never-failing friends are they. 

With whom I converse day by day. 

With them I take delight in weal 

And seek relief in woe; 

And while I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe, 

My cheeks have often been bedew 'd 

With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 



312 ■ THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them 

I live in long-past years, 

Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 

Partake their hopes and fears, 

And from their lessons seek and find 

Instruction with an humble mind. 

My hopes are with the Dead; anon 
My place with them will be, 
And I with them shall travel on 
Through all Futurity; 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
That will not perish in the dust. 

Robert Southey 



272 THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern, 
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? 
Have ye tippled drink more fine 
Than mine host's Canary wine? 
Or are fruits of Paradise 
Sweeter than those dainty pies 
Of venison ? generous food ! 
Drest as though bold Robin Hood 
Would, with his Maid Marian, 
Sup and bowse from horn and can. 

I have hear that on a day 
Mine host's sign-board flew away 
Nobody knew whither, till 
An astrologer's old quill 



JOHN KEATS 313 

To a sheepskin gave the story : 
Said he saw you in your glory, 
Underneath a new-old sign 
Sipping beverage divine, 
And pledging with contented smack 
The Mermaid in the Zodiac. 

Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern. 
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? 

John Keats 



273* THE PRIDE OF YOUTH 

Proud Maisie is in the wood. 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 

Singing so rarely. 

''Tell me, thou bonny bird. 
When shall I marry me?" 

''When six braw gentlemen 
Kirkward shall carry ye." 

"Who makes the bridal bed. 

Birdie, say truly?" 
"The gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 

* ' The glowworm 'er grave and etone 
Shall light thee steady ; 

The owl from the steeple sing 
Welcome, proud lady." 

Sir Walter Scott 



314 THE GC)JJ)EN TKI'ASURY 

274 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS 

One more Unfortunate, 
Weary of breath, 
Rashly importunate, 
Gone to her death ! 
Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care. 
Fashion 'd so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair ! 

Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements, 
Whilst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing; 
Take her up instantly. 
Loving, not loathing. 

Touch her not scornfully, 
Think of her mournfully. 
Gently, and humanly; 
Not of the stains of her — 
All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny 
Rash and undutiful: 
Past all dishonour. 
Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers, 
One of Eve's family — 



THOMAS HOOD 315 

Wipe those poor lips of hers 
Oozing so clammily. 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb, 
Her fair auburn tresses; 
Whilst wonderment guesses 
Where was her home? 

Who was her father? 
Who was her mother? 
Had she a sister? 
Had she a brother? 
Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other? 

Alas! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun ! 
Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
Near a whole city full, 
Home she had none. 

Sisterl}^, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly 
Feelings had changed: 
Love, by harsh evidence. 
Thrown from its eminence, 
Even God 's providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 
So far in the river, 



31g THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

With many a light 
From window and casement, 
From garret to basement, 
She stood with amazement, 
Houseless by night. 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver. 
But not the dark arch. 
Or the black flowing river: 
Mad from life's history. 
Glad to death's mystery 
Swift to be hurl'd— 
Any where, any where 
Out of the world! 

In she plunged boldly. 
No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran, — 
Over the brink of it ; 
Picture it — think of it, 
Dissolute Man! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 
Then, if you can ! 

Take her up tenderly. 
Lift her with care, 
Fashion 'd so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair ! 

Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, kindly. 
Smooth and compose them ; 



THOMAS HOOD 317 

And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly ! 

Dreadfully staring 
Thro' muddy impurity. 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fix'd on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily, 
Spurr'd by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity, 
Into her rest. 

.< — Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly, 
Over her breast! 

Owning her weakness. 
Her evil behaviour. 
And leaving, with meekness, 
Her sins to her Saviour. 
Thomas Hood 



275* ELEGY 

Oh snatch 'd away in beauty's bloom! 
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; 
But on thy turf shall roses rear 
Their leaves, the earliest of the year, 
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom ; 

And oft by yon blue gushing stream 
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head. 



318 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And feed deep thought with many a dream, 
And, lingering, pause, and lightly tread: 
Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb 'd the dead ! 

Away ! we know that tears are vain, 
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress : 
Will this unteach us to complain ? 
Or make one mourner weep the less? 
And thou, who tell'st me to forget, 
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 

Lord Byron 



276* HESTER 

When maidens such as Hester die, 
Their place ye may not well supply. 
Though ye among a thousand try 

With vain endeavour. 
A month or more hath she been dead, 
Yet cannot I by force be led 
To think upon the wormy bed 

And her together. 

A springy motion in her gait, 

A rising step, did indicate 

Of pride and joy no common rate 

That flush 'd her spirit: 
I know not by what name beside 
I shall it call : if 'twas not pride, 
It was a joy to that allied 

She did inherit. 

Her parents held the Quaker rule, 
Which doth the human feeling cool; 



MARY LAMB 

But she was train 'd in Nature's school, 

Nature had blest her. 
A waking eye, a prying mind, 
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; 
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, — 

Ye could not Hester. 

My sprightly neighbour ! gone before 
To that unknown and silent shore, 
Shall we not meet, as heretofore 

Some summer morning — 
When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 
A bliss that would not go away, 

A sweet fore-warning? 

Charles Lamb 



277* TO MARY 

If I had thought thou couldst have died, 

I might not weep for thee ; 
But I forgot, when by thy side, 

That thou couldst mortal be ; 
It never through my mind had past 

The time would e'er be o'er, 
And I on thee should look my last. 

And thou shouldst smile no more ! 

And still upon that face I look, 

And think 'twill smile again; 

And still the thought I will not brook. 
That I must look in vain ! 



819 



320 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

But when I speak — thou dost not say 
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; 

And now I feel, as well I may, 
Sweet ^lary! thou art dead! 

If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, 

All cold and all serene — 
I still might press thy silent heart. 

And where thy smiles have been. 
While e 'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, 

Thou seemest still mine own ; 
But there I lay thee in thy grave — 

And I am now alone ! 

I do not think, where'er thou art. 

Thou hast forgotten me; 
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart, 

In thinking too of thee. 
Yet there was round thee such a dawn 

Of light ne'er seen before, 
As fancy never could have dra^Ti, 

And never can restore ! 

Charles Wolfe 

278 CORONACH 

He is gone on the mountain. 

He is lost to the forest, 
Like a summer-dried fountain. 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font, reappearing, 

From the raindrops shall borrow, — 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 



THOMAS HOOD 321 



The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoarj^; 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest,- 
But our flower was in flushing 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi, 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber! 
Like the dew on the mountain, 

Like the foam on the river, 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone ; and for ever ! 

Sir Walter Scott 



279 THE DEATH BED 

We watch 'd her breathing thro' the night, 
Her breathing soft and low. 

As in her breast the wave of life 
Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seem'd to speak. 

So slowly moved about. 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 
Our fears our hopes belied — 



322 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

We thought her dying when she slept, 
And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad 
And chill with early showers, 

Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 
Another morn than ours. 

Thomas Hood 



280* AGNES 

I saw her in childhood — 

A bright, gentle thing, 
Like the dawn of the morn, 

Or the dews of the spring ; 
The daisies and hare-bells 

Her playmates all day; 
Herself as light-hearted 

And artless as they. 

I saw her again — 

A fair girl of eighteen, 
Fresh glittering with graces 

Of mind and of mien. 
Her speech was all music; 

Like moonlight she shone; 
The envy of many, 

The glory of one. 

Years, years fleeted over — 
I stood at her foot : 

The bud had grown blossom. 
The blossom was fruit. 



HENRY FRANCIS LYTE 323 

A dignified mother, 

Her infant she bore; 
And look'd, I thought, fairer 

Than ever before. 

I saw her once more — 

'Twas the day that she died; 
Heaven's light was around her, 

And God at her side; 
No wants to distress her, 

No fear to appal — 
then, I felt, then 

She was fairest of all! 

Henry Francis Lyte 



281 ROSABELLB 

listen, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 

''Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

* ' The blackening wave is edged with white ; 

To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; 
The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 

Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 

*'Last night the gifted Seer did view 
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; 



;24 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Then stay thee. Fair, in Ravensheuch ; 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? ' ' 

*' 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
To-night at Roslin leads the ball ; 

But that my ladye-mother there 
Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

'' 'Tis not because the ring they ride, 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well ; 

But that my sire the wine will chide 
If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle." 

— O'er Roslin all that dreary night 
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 

'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, 
And redder than the bright moonbeam. 

It glared on Roslin 's castled rock, 
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 

'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak. 
And seen from cavern 'd Hawthornden. 

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud 
Where Roslin 's chiefs uncoffin 'd lie, 

Each Baron, for a sable shroud. 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Seem'd all on fire within, around, 
Deep sacristy and altar's pale; 

Shone every pillar foliage-bound. 

And glimmer 'd all the dead men's mail. 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high, 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 325 

So still tliey blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high Saint Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin 's barons bold, 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. 

And each Saint Clair was buried there, 
With candle, with book, and with knell ; 

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 

Sir Walter Scott 



282* 

ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN 

I saw where in the shroud did lurk 

A curious frame of Nature's work; 

A flow 'ret crushed in the bud, 

A nameless piece of Babyhood, 

Was in her cradle-coffin lying ; 

Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying: 

So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb 

For darker closets of the tomb ! 

She did but ope an eye, and put 

A clear beam forth, then straight up shut 

For the long dark ; ne 'er more to see 

Through glasses of mortality. 

Riddle of destiny, who can show 

What thy short visit meant, or know 

What thy errand here below? 

Shall we say, that Nature blind 



326 



THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Check 'd her hand, and changed her mind 

Just when she had exactly wrought 

A finished pattern, without fault? 

Could she flag, or could she tire, 

Or lack'd she the Promethean fire 

(With her nine moons' long workings sicken 'd) 

That should thy little limbs have quicken 'd ? 

Limbs so firm, they seem 'd to assure 

Life of health, and days mature: 

Woman 's self in miniature ! 

Limbs so fair, they might supply 

(Themselves now but cold imagery) 

The sculptor to make Beauty by. 

Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry 

That babe or mother, one must die ; 

So in mercy left the stock 

And cut the branch ; to save the shock 

Of young years widow 'd, and the pain 

When Single State comes back again 

To the lone man who, reft of wife, 

Thenceforward drags a maimed life? 

The economy of Heaven is dark. 

And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark 

Why human buds, like this, should fall, 

More brief than fly ephemeral 

That has his day, while shrivell'd crones 

Stiffen with age to stocks and stones. 

And crabbed use the conscience sears 

In sinners of an hundred years. 

— Mother's prattle, mother's kiss, 

Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss: 

Rites, which custom does impose, 

Silver bells, and baby clothes ; 

Coral redder than those lips 



CHARLES LAMB 327 

Which pale death did late eclipse ; 

Music framed for infants' glee, 

Whistle never tuned for thee; 

Though thou want 'st not, thou shalt have them. 

Loving hearts were they which gave them. 

Let not one be missing; nurse. 

See them laid upon the hearse 

Of infant slain by doom perverse. 

Why should kings and nobles have 

Pictured trophies to their grave, 

And we, churls, to thee deny 

Thy pretty toys with thee to lie — 

A more harmless vanity? 

Charles Lamb 



!83* IN MEMORIAM 

A child's a plaything for an hour; 

Its pretty tricks we try 
For that or for a longer space, — 

Then tire, and lay it by. 

But I knew one that to itself 

All seasons could control ; 
That would have mock'd the sense of pain 

Out of a grieved soul. 

Thou straggler into loving arms. 

Young climber up of knees. 
When I forget thy thousand ways 

Then life and all shall cease! 

Mary Lamb 



328 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

284* THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET 

Where art thou, my beloved Son, 

Where art thou, worse to me than dead? 

Oh find me, prosperous or undone ! 

Or if the grave be now thy bed. 

Why am I ignorant of the same. 

That I may rest ; and neither blame 

Nor sorrow may attend thy name? 

Seven years, alas ! to have received 
No tidings of an only child — 
To have despair 'd, have hoped, believed, 
And been for ever more beguiled, — 
Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss ! 
I catch at them, and then I miss : 
Was ever darkness like to this ? 

He was among the prime in worth, 

An object beauteous to behold: 

Well born, well bred ; I sent him forth 

Ingenuous, innocent, and bold ; 

If things ensued that wanted grace 

As hath been said, they were not base ; 

And never blush was on my face. 

Ah ! little doth the young-one dream, 
When full of play and childish cares, 
What power is in his wildest scream 
Heard by his mother unawares! 
He knows it not, he cannot guess; 
Years to a mother bring distress, 
But do not make her love the less. 



^^^LLIAM WORDSWORTH 329 

Neglect me! no, I suffer 'd long 
From that ill thought; and being blind 
Said ' ' Pride shall help me in my wrong : 
Kind mother have I been, as kind 
As ever breathed : ' ' and that is true ; 
I've wet my path with tears like dew, 
Weeping for him when no one knew. 

My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, 
Hopeless of honour and of gain, 
Oh ! do not dread thy mother 's door ; 
Think not of me with grief and pain : 
I now can see with better eyes ; 
And worldly grandeur I despise 
And fortune, with her gifts and lies. 

Alas ! the fowls of heaven have wings, 
And blasts of heaven will aid their flight ; 
They mount — how short a voyage brings 
The wanderers back to their delight ! 
Chains tie us down by land and sea ; 
And wishes, vain as mine, may be 
All that is left to comfort thee. 

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan 
Maim 'd, mangled by inhuman men ; 
Or thou upon a desert thrown 
Inheritest the lion 's den ; 
Or hast been summon 'd to the deep 
Thou, thou, and all thy mates to keep 
An incommunicable sleep. 

I look for ghosts : but none will force 
Their way to me ; 'tis falsely said 



330 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

That there was ever intercourse 
Between the living and the dead, 
For surely then I should have sight 
Of him I wait for day and night 
With love and longings infinite. 

My apprehensions come in crowds ; 
I dread the rustling of the grass ; 
The very shadows of the clouds 
Have power to shake me as they pass ; 
I question things, and do not find 
One that will answer to my mind; 
And all the world appears unkind. 

Beyond participation lie 
My troubles, and beyond relief : 
If any chance to heave a sigh, 
They pity me, and not my grief. 
Then come to me, my Son, or send 
Some tidings that my woes may end! 
I have no other earthly friend. 

William Wordsworth 



285* HUNTING SONG 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

On the mountain dawns the day ; 

All the jolly chase is here. 

With hawk and horse and hunting-spear 

Hounds are in their couples yelling, 

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 

Merrily merrily mingle they: 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 331 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
The mist has left the mountain gray, 
Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming. 
And foresters have busy been 
To track the buck in thicket green ; 
Now we come to chant our lay : 
"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

To the greenwood haste away ; 

We can show you where he lies, 

Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 

We can show the marks he made 

When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd; 

You shall see him brought to bay — 

"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Louder, louder chant the lay 

Waken, lords and ladies gay! 

Tell them youth and mirth and glee 

Run a course as well as we ; 

Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, 

Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ; 

Think of this, and rise with day. 

Gentle lords and ladies gay ! 

Sir Walter Scott 



286 TO THE SKYLARK 

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! 
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? 
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 



332 'I'^iJ^ aOLDEN TREASURY 

Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 
Those quivering wings composed, that music still! 

To the last point of vision, and beyond 

Mount, daring warbler! — that love-prompted strain 

— 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — 

Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain ; 

Yet might 'st thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing 

All independent of the leafy Spring. 

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; 
A privacy of glorious light is thine, 
"Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam — 
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. 

William Wordsworth 



287 TO A SKYLARK 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it, 
Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou springest ; 
Like a cloud of fire. 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

In the golden lightning 
Of the sunken sun, 



PERCY BYS8HE SHELLEY 333 

O'er which clouds are brightening, 
Thou dost float and run, 
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 

The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight; 
Like a star of heaven 

In the broad daylight. 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight: 

Keen as are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere. 
Whose intense lamp narrows 

In the white dawn clear. 
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
As, when night is bare, 

From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow 'd. 

What thou art we know not : 

What is most like thee? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see 
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody: — 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought, 
Singing hymns unbidden, 
Till the world is wrought 
Tc sympathy ;yith I:r»r)Ps ay:^ f^ars if heeded not; 



334 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower, 
Soothing her love-laden 

Soul in secret hour 
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower ; 

Like a glow-worm golden 

In a dell of dew. 
Scattering unbeholden 
Its aerial hue 
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the 
view; 

Like a rose embow^er'd 

In its own green leaves. 
By warm winds deflower 'd, 
Till the scent it gives 
Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged 
thieves. 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awaken 'd flowers, 

All that ever was 
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 

"What sweet thoughts are thine ; 
I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus hymeneal 

Or triumphal chaunt. 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 335 

Matched with thine, would be all 
But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain ? 
What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 
What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? 

With thy clear keen joyance 

Langour cannot be; 
Shadow of annoyance 

Never came near thee ; 
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

Waking or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 

Than we mortals dream. 
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? 

We look before and after. 

And pine for what is not ; 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught ; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate and pride and fear; 
If we were things born 

Not to shed a tear, 
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 



336 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 

That in books are found 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know. 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now ! 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



288* THE GREEN LINNET 

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 
Their snow-white blossoms on my head. 
With brightest sunshine round me spread 
Of Spring's unclouded w^eather, 
In this sequester 'd nook how sweet 
To sit upon my orchard-seat! 
And flowers and birds once more to greet, 
My last year's friends together. 

One have I mark'd, the happiest guest 
In all this covert of the blest : 
Hail to Thee, far above the rest 
In joy of voice and pinion ! 
Thou, Linet ! in thy green array, 
Presiding Spirit here to-day, 
Dost lead the revels of the May; 
And this is thy dominion. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 337 

While birds and butterflies and flowers 
Make all one band of paramours, 
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, 
Art sole in thy employment : 
A Life, a Presence like the air, 
Scattering thy gladness without care. 
Too blest with any one to pair; 
Thyself thy own enjoyment. 

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees 
That twinkle to the gusty breeze 
Behold him perch 'd in ecstasies, 
Yet seeming still to hover ; 
There ! where the flutter of his wings 
Upon his back and body flings 
Shadows and sunny glimmerings, 
That cover him all over. 

My dazzled sight he oft deceives — 
A brother of the dancing leaves ; 
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves 
Pours forth his song in gushes ; 
As if by that exulting strain 
He mock'd and treated with disdain 
The voiceless Form he chose to feign. 
While fluttering in the bushes. 

William Wordsworth 

289* TO THE CUCKOO 

blithe new-comer ! I have heard, 

1 hear thee and rejoice : 

O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, 
Or but a wandering Voice? 



338 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

While I am lying on the grass 
Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
At once far off and near. 

Though babbling only to the vale 
Of sunshine and of flowers, 
Thou bringest unto me a tale 
Of visionary hours. 

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! 

Even yet thou art to me 

No bird, but an invisible thing, 

A voice, a mystery; 

The same whom in my school-boy days 
I listen 'd to ; that Cry 
Which made me look a thousand ways 
In bush and tree and sky. 

To seek thee did I often rove 
Through woods and on the green ; 
And thou wert still a hope, a love ; 
Still long 'd for, never seen ! 

And I can listen to thee yet ; 
Can lie upon the plain 
And listen, till I do beget 
That golden time again. 

• blessed Bird! the earth we pace 
Again appears to be 
An unsubstantial faery place. 
That is fit home for Thee! 

William Wordsivorth 



JOHN KEATS 339 

290 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 

]\Iy heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 
'Tis not though envy of thy happy lot. 
But being too happy in thine happiness, — 
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 
In some melodious plot 
Of beechen green and shadows numberless, 
Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 

0, for a draught of vintage ! that hath been 

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 
Tasting of Flora and the country green, 

Dance, and Provengal song, and sunburnt mirth! 
for a beaker full of the warm South, 
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
And purple-stained mouth; 
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 
And with thee fade away into the forest dim : 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 

What thou among the leaves hast never known : 
The weariness, the fever, and the fret 

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; 
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies, 
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 
And leaden-eyed despairs ; 
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 



340 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 
But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : 
Already with thee ! tender is the night, 
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne. 
Cluster 'd round by all her starry Fays ; 
But here there is no light. 
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, 

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 

Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild: 
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; 
Fast fading violets cover 'd up in leaves; 
And mid-May's eldest child, 
The coming musk-rose, full of dew^y wine, 

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 

Darkling I listen ; and for many a time 

I have been half in love with easeful Death, 
Call 'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 

To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
Now more than ever seems it rich to die. 
To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
In such an ecstasy ! 
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 
To thy high requiem become a sod. 

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! 
No hungry generations tread thee down; 



JOHN KEATS 341 

The voice I hear this passing night was heard 

In ancient days by emperor and clown: 
Perhaps the self -same song that found a path 

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home. 
She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; 
The same that oft-times hath 
Charm 'd magic casements, opening on the foam 
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 

Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 

To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! 
Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades 
Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep 
In the next valley-glades: 
Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? 

Fled is that music : — Do I wake or sleep ? 

John Keats 

291* 

UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1802 
Earth has not anything to show more fair : 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This City now doth like a garment wear 
The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields, and to the sky, — 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep 
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill ; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 



342 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The river glideth at its own sweet will : 
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 

William Wordsworth 



292* 

To one who has been long in city pent, 
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair 
And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer 
Full in the smile of the blue firmament. 
Who is more happy, when, wdth heart's content. 
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair • 
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair 
And gentle tale of love and languishment ? 
Returning home at evening, with an ear 
Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye 
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, 
He mourns that day so soon has glided by : 
E 'en like the passage of an angel 's tear 
That falls through the clear ether silently. 

John Keats 



293 OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT 

I met a traveller from an antique land 
Who said : Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand. 
Half sunk, a shatter 'd visage lies, w^hose frown 
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which 3^et survive, stamp 'd on these lifeless things. 
The hand that mock 'd them and the heart that fed ; 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 343 

And on the pedestal these words appear: 
''My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: 
Look on my work, ye Mighty, and despair!" 
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, 
The lone and level sands stretch far away. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 

294* 

COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, THE PROP- 
ERTY OF LORD QUEENSBERRY, 1803 

Degenerate Douglas ! oh, the unworthy lord ! 
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please 
And love of havoc, (for with such disease 
Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word 
To level with the dust a noble horde, 
A brotherhood of venerable trees. 
Leaving an ancient dome and towers like these 
Beggar 'd and outraged! — Many hearts deplored 
The fate of those old trees ; and oft with pain 
The traveller at this day will stop and gaze 
On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed : 
For shelter 'd places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, 
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, 
And the green silent pastures yet remain. 

William Wordsworth 



295* THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION 

leave this barren spot to me ! 

Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 

Though bush or floweret never grow 



344 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

My dark unwarming shade below ; 

Nor summer bud perfume the dew 

Of rosy blush, or yellow hue ; 

Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, 

My green and glossy leaves adorn ; 

Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 

Th ' ambrosial amber of the hive : 

Yet leave this barren spot to me : 

Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 

Thrice twenty summers I have seen 
The sky grow bright, the forest green ; 
And many a wintry wind have stood 
In bloomless, fruitless solitude, 
Since childhood in my pleasant bower 
First spent its sweet and sportive hour ; 
Since youthful lovers in my shade 
Their vows of truth and rapture made, 
And on my trunk's surviving frame 
Carved many a long-forgotten name. 
Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound, 
First breathed upon this sacred ground ; 
By all that Love has whisper 'd here, 
Or Beauty heard with ravish 'd ear ; 
As Love 's own altar honour me ; 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 
Thomas Campbell 



296* ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER 

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye ! 

— The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook 

Hath stirr'd thee deeply, with its own dear brook, 



WILLIAIM WORDSWORTH 345 

Its own small pasture, almost its own sky ! 

But covet not the abode ; forbear to sigh 

As many do, repining while they look ; 

Intruders — who would tear from Nature's book 

This precious leaf with harsh impiety. 

— Think what the home must be if it were thine, 

Even thine, though few thy wants ! — Roof, window, door, 

The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, 

The roses to the porch which they entwine : 

Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day 

On which it should be touch 'd, would melt away ! 

William Wordsworth 



297 TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF 

INVERSNEYDE 

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 

Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! 

Twice seven consenting years have shed 

Their utmost bounty on thy head ; 

And these gray rocks, that household lawn. 

Those trees — a veil just half withdrawn, 

This fall of water that doth make 

A murmur near the silent lake. 

This little bay, a quiet road 

That holds in shelter thy abode ; 

In truth together ye do seem 

Like something fashion 'd in a dream. 

Such forms as from their covert peep 

When earthly cares are laid asleep ! 

But O fair Creature ! in the light 

Of common day so heavenly bright, 

I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, 



346 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

I bless tliee with a human heart : 
God shield thee to thy latest years ! 
Thee neither know I nor thy peers, 
And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. 

With earnest feeling I shall pray 
For thee when I am far away ; 
For never saw I mien or face 
In which more plainl}^ I could trace 
Benignity and home-bred sense 
Ripening in perfect innocence. 
Here scatter 'd, like a random seed, 
Remote from men, Thou dost not need 
The embarrass 'd look of shy distress, 
And maidenly shamefacedness : 
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
The freedom of a Mountaineer: 
A face with gladness overspread ; 
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred; 
And seemliness complete, that sways 
Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; 
With no restraint, but such as springs 
From quick and eager visitings 
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
Of thy few words of English speech : 
A bondage sweetly brook 'd, a strife 
That gives thy gestures grace and life! 
So have I, not unmoved in mind, 
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind — 
Thus beating up against the wind. 

What hand but would a garland cull 
For thee who art so beautiful ? 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 347 

happy pleasure ! here to dwell 
Beside thee in some heathy dell ; 
Adopt your homely ways and dress, 
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess! 
But I could frame a wish for thee 
More like a grave reality : 

Thou art to me but as a wave 
Of the wild sea ; and I would have 
Some claim upon thee, if I could. 
Though but of common neighborhood. 
What joy to hear thee, and to see ! 
Thy elder brother I would be. 
Thy father — anything to thee. 

Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace 
Hath led me to this lonely place : 
Joy have I had ; and, going hence, 

1 bear away my recompence. 
In spots like these it is we prize 
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes : 
Then why should I be loth to stir ? 

I feel this place was made for her ; 

To give new pleasure like the past. 

Continued long as life shall last. 

Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart. 

Sweet Highland Girl ! from thee to part ; 

For I, methinks, till I grow old 

As fair before me shall behold 

As I do now, the cabin small, 

The lake, the bay, the waterfall ; 

And Thee, the Spirit of them all ! 

Williayn Wordsworth 



348 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

298* THE REAPER 

Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland Lass ! 
Reaping and singing by herself; 
Stop here, or gently pass ! 
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain ; 

listen ! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

No nightingale did ever chaunt 
More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travellers in some shady haunt 
Among Arabian sands : 
A voice so thrilling ne 'er was heard 
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me what she sings ? 
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-off things, 
And battles long ago ; 
Or is it some more humble lay. 
Familiar matter of to-day ? 
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 
That has been, and may be again ! 

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending ; 

1 saw her singing at her work, 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 349 

And o'er the sickle bending; — 
I listened, motionless and still; 
And, as I mounted up the hill, 
The music in my heart I bore 
Long after it was heard no more. 

William Wordsworth 



299* TPIE REVEEIE OF POOR SUSAN 

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears. 
Hangs a Thrush that sings loud; it has sung for throe 

years ; 
Poor Susan has pass 'd by the spot, and has heard 
In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees 
A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 
Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, 
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. 

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale 
Down which she so often has tripp 'd with her pail ; 
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's. 
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 

She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, 
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise. 
And the colours have all pass 'd away from her eyes ! 

William Wordsworth 



350 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

300 TO A LADY, WITH A GUITAR 

Ariel to Miranda: — Take 

This slave of music, for the sake 

Of him who is the slave of thee ; 

And teach it all the harmony 

In which thou canst, and only thou, 

Make the delighted spirit glow. 

Till joy denies itself again 

And, too intense, is turn'd to pain. 

For by permission and command 

Of thine OAvn Prince Ferdinand, 

Poor Ariel sends this silent token 

Of more than ever can be spoken : 

Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who 

From life to life must still pursue 

Your happiness, for thus alone 

Can Ariel ever find his own. 

From Prospero's enchanted cell, 

As the mighty verses tell, 

To the throne of Naples he 

Lit you o'er the trackless sea. 

Flitting on, your prow before. 

Like a living meteor. 

When you die, the silent Moon 

In her interlunar swoon 

Is not sadder in her cell 

Than deserted Ariel: — 

When you live again on earth, 

Like an unseen Star of birth 

Ariel guides you o'er the sea 

Of life from your nativity: — 

Many changes have been run 

Since Ferdinand and you begun 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 351 

Your course of love, and Ariel still 

Has track 'd your steps and served your will. 

Now in humbler, happier lot, 

This is all remembered not ; 

And now, alas ! the poor Sprite is 

Imprison 'd for some fault of his 

In a body like a grave — 

From you he only dares to crave, 

For his service and his sorrow 

A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. 

The artist who this idol wrought 

To echo all harmonious thought, 

Fell'd a tree, while on the steep 

The woods were in their winter sleep, 

Rock'd in that repose divine 

On the wind-swept Apennine; 

And dreaming, some of Autumn past, 

And some of Spring approaching fast. 

And some of April buds and showers, 

And some of songs in July bowers, 

And all of love : and so this tree, — 

Oh that such our death may be ! — 

Died in sleep, and felt no pain, 

To live in happier form again ; 

From w^hich, beneath heaven's fairest star. 

The artist wrought this loved Guitar, 

And taught it justly to reply 

To all who question skilfully 

In language gentle as thine own; 

Whispering in enamour 'd tone 

Sweet oracles of woods and dells. 

And summer winds in sylvan cells : 

— For it hsd learnt all harmonies' 



352 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Of the plains and of the skies, 
Of the forests and the mountains, 
And the many-voiced fountains; 
The clearest echoes of the hills, 
The softest notes of falling rills. 
The melodies of birds and bees, 
The murmuring of summer seas. 
And pattering rain, and breathing dew, 
And airs of evening ; and it knew 
That seldom-heard mysterious sound 
Which, driven on its diurnal round. 
As it floats through boundless day. 
Our world enkindles on its way. 
— All this it knows, but will not tell 
To those who cannot question well 
The Spirit that inhabits it ; 
It talks according to the wit 
Of its companions; and no more 
Is heard than has been felt before 
By those who tempt it to betray 
These secrets of an elder day. 
But, sweetly as its answers will 
Flatter hands of perfect skill. 
It keeps its highest, holiest tone 
For our beloved Jane alone. 

Percy Bysslie Shelley 



301* THE DAFFODILS 

I wander 'd lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host of golden daffodils. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 353 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way, 
They stretch 'd in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : — 

A Poet could not but be gay 

In such a jocund company! 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought ; 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 
In vacant or in pensive mood. 
They flash upon that inward eye, 
Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills. 
And dances with the daffodils. 

William Wordsworth 



302 TO THE DAISY 

With little here to do or see 

Of things that in the great world lie. 

Sweet Daisy ! oft I talk to thee 

For thou art worthy, 
Thou unassuming Common-place 
Of Nature, with that homely face. 



354 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And yet with something of a grace 
Which Love makes for thee ! 

Oft on the dappled turf at ease 

I sit and play with similes, 

Loose tj^pes of things through all degrees, 

Thoughts of thy raising ; 
And many a fond and idle name 
I give to thee, for praise or blame 
As is the humour of the game, 

While I am gazing. 

A nun demure, of lowly port ; 

Or sprightly maiden of Love's court, 

In thy simplicity the sport 

Of all temptations ; 
A queen in crown of rubies drest ; 
A starveling in a scanty vest : 
Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 

Thy appellations. 

A little Cyclops, with one eye 
Staring to threaten and defy, 
That thought comes next — and instantly 

The freak is over, 
The shape will vanish, and behold ! 
A silver shield with boss of gold 
That spreads itself, some faery bold 

In fight to cover. 

I see thee glittering from afar — 
And then thou are a pretty star, 
Not quite so fair as many are 
In heaven above thee ! 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 355 

Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest; — 
May peace come never to his nest 
Who shall reprove thee! 

Sweet Flower ! for by that name at last 
When all my reveries are past 
I call thee, and to that cleave fast, 

Sweet silent Creature! 
That breath 'st with me in sun and air, 
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
My heart with gladness, and a share 

Of thy meek nature ! 

M^illiam Wordsworth 



303* ODE TO AUTUMN 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; 

Conspiring with him how to load and bless 

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; 

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; 

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, 

And still more, later flowers for the bees. 

Until they think warm days will never cease. 

For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor. 
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 



356 THE GOLDEX TREASURY 

Or on a half-reap 'd furrow sound asleep, 

Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 

Spares the next swath and all its twined tiowers ; 

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 

Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 

Or by a eider-press, with patient look. 

Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 

"Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 

Think not of them ; thou hast thy music too. — 

AVhile barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day 

And touch the stubble-plains Avith ros^^ hue ; 

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 

Among the river-sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 

And full-groAATi lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 

Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft 

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft ; 

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 

John Keats, 



304* ODE TO AYIXTER 

Germany. December, 1800 

AYhen first the fiery-mantled Sun 
His heavenly race began to run. 
Round the earth and ocean blue 
His children four, the Seasons, flew. 

First, in green apparel dancing. 
The young Spring smiled with angel-grace 

Rosy Summer next advancing, 
Rush 'd into her sire 's embrace — 



THOMAS CA^NIPBELL 357 

Her bright-hair 'd sire, who bade her keep 

For ever nearest to his smiles, 
On Cali^e 's olive-shaded steep 

Or India's citron-cover 'd isles; 
More remote, and buxom-brown. 

The Queen of vintage bow 'd before his throne ; 
A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, 

A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 

But howling Winter fled afar 
To hills that prop the polar star ; 
And loves on deer-borne car to ride 
With barren darkness by his side, 
Round the shore where loud Lofoden 

Whirls to death the roaring whale, 
Round the hall where Runic Odin 

Howls his war-song to the gale; 
Save when adown the ravaged globe 

He travels on hLs native storm, 
Deflowering Nature 's grassy robe 

And trampling on her faded form : — 
Till light's returning Lord assume 

The shaft that drives him to his polar field. 
Of power to pierce his raven plume 

And crystal-cover 'd shield. 

Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear 
The Lapland drum delights to hear. 
When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye 
Implores thy dreadful deity — 
Archangel ! Power of desolation ! 

Fast descending as thou art. 
Say, hath mortal invocation 

Spells to touch thy stormy heart? 



358 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Then, sullou Wintor! hoar my prayer, 

And gvntly rule the ruin'd year; 
Nor ehill the wanderer's bosom bare 

Nor freeze the wreteh's falling tear; 
To shudderinii AVant's nnmantUnl bed 

Thy horror-breathinii: agnes eease to lend, 
And gently on the orphan head 

or Tnnoeenee deseend. 

Rut ehietly spare, O king of elouds ! 
The sailor on his airy shrouds. 
When wreeks and beaeons strew the steep, 
And spectres walk along the deep. 
]Milder yet thy snowy breezes 

Pour on yonder tented shores, 
Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes 

Or the dark-brown Danube roars. 
Oh. winds of Winter! list ye there 

To many a deep and dying groan? 
Or start, ye demons of the midnight air. 

At shrieks and thundi^rs louder than your own 
Alas! ev'n your unhalloAv'd breath 

May spare the victim fallen low ; 
But ]\Ian will ask no truce to death, — 

No bounds to human woe. 

Thomas Caw ph ell 

305 YARROW rXVlSITED— 1803 

From Stirling Castle we had seen 
The mazy Forth unravell'd, 
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay 
And with the Tweed had travell'd; 
And when we came to Clovenford, 



WILLIAM WOUnSW'OKTIi 359 

Then said my "winsome Marrow," 
"Whate'er betide, W(.''ll turn aside, 
And see the Braes of Yarrow." 



''Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, 
Who have been buying, selling, 
Go baek to Yarrow, 'tis their own. 
Each maiden to her dwelling ! 
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed. 
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow,- 
But we wall downward with the Tweed 
Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 



"There's Gala Water, Leader Ilaughs, 
Both lying right before us ; 
And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed 
The lintwhites sing in chorus; 
There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land 
]\Iade blithe with plough and harrow : 
Why throw away a needful day 
To go in search of Yarrow? 

"What's Yarrow but a river bare 

That glides the dark hills under? 

There are a thousand such elsewhere 

As worthy of your wonder. ' ' 

— Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn 

My True-love sigh'd for sorrow, 

And look 'd me in the face, to think 

I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 

"O green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms. 
And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock. 



360 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

But we will leave it growing. 
O 'er hilly path and open strath 
We '11 wander Scotland thorough ; 
But, though so near, we will not turn 
Into the dale of Yarrow. 

''Let beeves and home-bred kine partake 
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
The swan on still Saint Mary 's Lake 
Float double, swan and shadow ! 
We will not see them ; will not go 
To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
Enough if in our hearts we know 
There's such a place as Yarrow. 

*'Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
It must, or we shall rue it : 
We have a vision of our own, 
Ah ! why should we undo it ? 
The treasured dreams of times long past, 
We '11 keep them, winsome Marrow ! 
For when Ave 're there, although 'tis fair, 
'Twill be another Yarrow ! 

"If Care with freezing years should come 

And wandering seem but folly, — 

Should we be loth to stir from home, 

And yet be melancholy ; 

Should life be dull, and spirits low, — 

'Twill sooth us in our sorrow 

That earth has something yet to show, 

The bonny holms of Yarrow ! ' ' 

William Wordsivorth 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 361 

306* YARROW VISITED 

September, 1814 

And is this — Yarrow? — This the stream 

Of which my fancy cherish 'd 

So faithfully a waking dream, 

An image that hath perish 'd? 

that some minstrel's harp were near 

To utter notes of gladness 

And chase this silence from the air, 

That fills my heart with sadness ! 

Yet why ? — a silvery current flows 

With uncontroll'd meanderings; 

Nor have these eyes by greener hills 

Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 

And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake 

Is visibly delighted, 

For not a feature of those hills 

Is in the mirror slighted. 

A blue sky bends o 'er Yarrow Vale, 

Save where that pearly w^hiteness 

Is round the rising sun diffused, 

A tender hazy brightness ; 

Mild dawn of promise ! that excludes 

All profitless dejection. 

Though not unwilling here to admit 

A pensive recollection. 

Where was it that the famous Flower 
Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding ? 
His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 
On which the herd is feeding ; 



362 THE GOLDEX TREASURY 

And haply from this crystal pool, 
Now peaceful as the morniug, 
The Water-wraith ascended thrice 
And gave his doleful warning. 

Delicious is the lay that sings 

The haimts of happy lovers, 

The path that leads them to the grove, 

The leafy grove that covers ; 

And pity sanctifies the verse 

That paints, by strength of sorrow, 

The imconquerable strength of love; 

Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 

But thou that didst appear so fair 

To fond imagination, 

Dost rival in the light of day 

Her delicate creation: 

Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 

A softness still and holy; 

The grace of forest charms decay 'd 

And pastoral melancholy. 

That region left, the vale unfolds 

Rich groves of lofty stature. 

With Yarrow winding through the pomp 

Of cultivated nature ; 

And rising from those lofty groves 

Behold a ruin hoary, 

The shatter 'd front of Newark 's towers, 

Renown 'd in Border story. 

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, 
For sportive youth to stray in, 



^nLLIAM WORDS^YORTH 353 

For manhood to enjoy his strength, 

And age to wear awa}^ in ! 

Yon cottage seenis a bower of bliss, 

A covert for protection 

Of tender thoughts that nestle there — 

The brood of chaste affection. 

How sweet on this autumnal day 

The wild-wood fruits to gather. 

And on my True-love's forehead plant 

A crest of blooming heather ! 

And what if I enwreathed my own? 

'Twere no offence to reason : 

The sol)er hills thus deck their brows 

To meet the wintry season. 

I see — but not by sight alone. 

Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 

A ray of Fancy still survives — 

Her sunshine plays upon thee ! 

Thy ever-youthful waters keep 

A course of lively pleasure. 

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe 

Accordant to the measure. 

The vapours linger round the heights, 
They melt, and soon must vanish ; 
One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — 
Sad thought ! which I would banish, 
But that I know, where 'er I go. 
Thy genuine image, Yarrow ! 
Will dwell with me, to heighten joy, 
And cheer my mind in sorrow. 

William Wordsworth. 



364 I'HE GOLDEN TREASURY 

307 THE INVITATION 

Best and brightest, come away, — 

Fairer far than this fair Day, 

Which, like thee, to those in sorrow 

Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow 

To the rough year, just awake 

In its cradle on the brake. 

The brightest hour of unborn Spring, 

Through the winter wandering. 

Found, it seems, the halcyon morn 

To hoar February born ; 

Bending from heaven, in azure mirth, 

It kiss'd the forehead of the earth. 

And smiled upon the silent sea. 

And bade the frozen streams be free. 

And waked to music all their fountains. 

And breathed upon the frozen mountains. 

And, like a prophetess of May, 

Strew 'd flowers upon the barren way. 

Making the wintry world appear 

Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. 

Away, away, from men and towns. 
To the wild wood and the downs — 
To the silent wilderness, 
Where the soul need not repress 
Its music, lest it should not find 
An echo in another's mind. 
While the touch of Nature's art 
Harmonizes heart to heart. 

Radiant Sister of the Day, 
Awake ! arise ! and come away ! 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 355 

To the wild woods and the plains, 
To the pools where winter rains 
Image all their roof of leaves, 
Where the pine its garland weaves 
Of sapless green and ivy dun 
Round stems that never kiss the sun; 
Where the lawns and pastures be 
And the sandhills of the sea ; 
Where the melting hoar-frost wets 
The daisy-star that never sets; 
And wind-flowers and violets, 
Which yet join not scent to hue, 
Crown the pale year weak and new ; 
When the night is left behind 
In the deep east, dim and blind, 
And the blue noon is over us, 
And the multitudinous 
Billows murmur at our feet, 
Where the earth and ocean meet. 
And all things seem only one 
In the universal Sun. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



308* THE RECOLLECTION 

Now the last day of many days. 
All beautiful and bright as thou, 
The loveliest and the last, is dead : 
Rise, Memory, and write its praise ! 
Up — to thy wonted work ! come, trace 
The epitaph of glory fled, 
For now the earth has changed its face, 
A frown is on the heaven's brow. 



366 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

We wander 'd to the Pine Forest 

That skirts the Ocean 's foam ; 
The lightest wind was in its nest, 

The tempest in its home. 
The whispering waves were half asleep, 

The clouds were gone to play, 
And on the bosom of the deep 

The smile of heaven lay ; 
It seem 'd as if the hour were one 

Sent from be\^ond the skies, 
Which scatter 'd from above the sun 

A light of Paradise ! 

We paused amid the pines that stood 

The giants of the waste, 
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude 

As serpents interlaced. 
And soothed by every azure breath 

That under heaven is blown. 
To harmonies and hues beneath, 

As tender as its own ; 
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep 

Like green waves on the sea, 
As still as in the silent deep 

The ocean-woods may be. 

How calm it was ! — The silence there 

By such a chain was bound 
That even the busy woodpecker 

]\Iade stiller with her sound 
The inviolable quietness; 

The breath of peace we drew 
With its soft motion made not less 

The calm that round us grew. 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 3Q7 

There seem'd, from the remotest seat 

Of the white mountain waste 
To the soft flower beneath our feet, 

A magic circle traced, — 
A spirit interfused around, 

A thrilling silent life ; 
To momentary peace it bound 

Our mortal nature 's strife ; — 
And still I felt the centre of 

The magic circle there 
Was one fair form, that fill 'd with love 

The lifeless atmosphere. 

We paused beside the pools that lie 

Under the forest bough ; 
Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky 

Gulf 'd in a world below: 
A firmament of purple light 

Which in the dark earth lay, 
More boundless than the depth of night 

And purer than the day — 
In which the lovely forest grew 

As in the upper air, 
More perfect, both in shape and hue. 

Than any spreading there. 
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, 

And through the dark green wood 
The white sun twinkling like the dawn 

Out of a speckled cloud. 
Sweet views which in our world above 

Can never well be seen 
Were imaged by the water's love 

Of that fair forest green ; 



368 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And all was interfused beneath 

With an Elysian glow, 
An atmosphere without a breath, 

A softer day below. 
Like one beloved, the scene had lent 

To the dark water 's breast 
Its every leaf and lineament 

With more than truth exprest, 
Until an envious wind crept by, 

Like an unwelcome thought 
Which from the mind's too faithful eye 

Blots one dear image out. 
— Though thou art ever fair and kind, 

The forests ever green, 
Less oft is peace in Shelly 's mind 

Than calm in waters seen ! 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



309 BY THE SEA 

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 

The holy time is quiet as a Nun 

Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 

Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; 

The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : 

Listen ! the mighty Being is awake. 

And doth with his eternal motion make 

A sound like thunder — everlastingly. 

Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, 

If thou appear untouched by solemn thought. 

Thy nature is not therefore less divine : 

Thou liest in Abraham 's bosom all the year, 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 369 

And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
God being with thee when we know it not. 

William Wordsworth 



310* SONG TO THE EVENING STAR 

Star that bringest home the bee 
And sett'st the weary labourer free! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis Thou 

That send'st it from above. 
Appearing when Heaven 's breath and brow 

Are sweet as hers we love. 

Come to the luxuriant skies, 
"Whilst the landscape's odours rise. 
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard 

And songs when toil is done, 
From cottages whose smoke unstirr 'd 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews, 
Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art. 
Too delicious to be riven 

By absence from the heart. 

Thomas Campbell 



311* DATITR HORA QUIETI 

The sun upon the lake is low. 
The wild birds hush their song. 

The hills have evening's deepest glow, 
Yet Leonard tarries long. 



370 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Now all whom varied toil and care 
From home and love divide, 

In the calm sunset may repair 
Each to the loved one's side. 

The noble dame, on turret high, 

Who waits her gallant knight, 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armour bright. 
The village maid, with hand on brow 

The level ray to shade, 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colin 's darkening plaid. 

Now to their mates the wild swans row, 

By day they swam apart; 
And to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
The woodlark at his partner 's side 

Twitters his closing song — 
All meet whom day and care divide. 

But Leonard tarries long ! 

Sir Walter Scott 



312* TO THE MOON 

Art thou pale for weariness 
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth. 

Wandering companionless 
Among the stars that have a different birth, — 
And ever-changing, like a joyless eye 
That finds no object worth its constancy? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 37I 

313 TO SLEEP 

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 

One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees 

Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, 

Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky: 

I've thought of all by turns, and yet do lie 

Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies 

IMust hear, first utter 'd from my orchard trees, 

And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 

Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, 

And could not win thee, Sleep ! by any stealth : 

So do not let me wear to-night away : 

Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? 

Come, blessed barrier betAveen day and day, 

Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health ! 

William Wordsworth 



314* THE SOLDIER'S DREAM 

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower 'd. 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower 'd, 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw 
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, 

At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw. 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array 
P^ar, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track; 

'Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 



372 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; 

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft. 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore 
From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; 

My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er. 
And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 

''Stay — stay with us! — rest! — thou are weary and 
worn ! ' ' — 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; — 
But sorrow return 'd with the dawning of morn, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 

TJiomas Campbell 



315* A DREAM OF THE UNKNOWN 

1 dream 'd that as I wander 'd by the way, 

Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, 

And gentle odours led my steps astray, 
Mix'd w^ith a sound of waters murmuring, 

Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay 
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 

Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 

But kiss'd it and then fled, as Thou mightest in dream. 

There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, 
Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth. 

The constellated flower that never sets ; 

Faint oxlips ; tender blue-bells, at whose birth 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 373 

The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets 
Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, 
When the low wind, its playmate 's voice, it hears. 

And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, 
Green cow-bind and the moonlight-colour 'd may, 

And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
Was the bright dew yet drain 'd not by the day ; 

And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, 

With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray ; 

And flowers azure, black, and streak 'd with gold. 

Fairer than any awaken 'd eyes behold. 

And nearer to the river 's trembling edge 

There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank 'd with 
white. 
And starry river-buds among the sedge, 

And floating w^ater-lilies, broad and bright, 
Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 

With moonlight beams of their own watery light ; 
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 

Methought that of these visionary flowers 

I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
That the same hues, which in their natural bowers 

Were mingled or opposed, the like array 
Kept these imprison 'd. children of the Hours 

Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, 
I hastened to the spot whence I had come 
That I might there present it — ! to Whom ? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



374 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

316 KUBLA KAHN 

In Xanadu did Kubla Kahn 
A stately pleasure-dome decree : 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
Through caverns measureless to man 

Down to a sunless sea ; 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
"With walls and tow^ers w^ere girdled round ; 
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills 
Where blossom 'd many an incense-bearing tree ; 
And here w^ere forests ancient as the hills, 
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! 
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
As e 'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
By w^oman w^ailing for her demon-lover ! 
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 
As if this earth in fast thick pants w^re breathing, 
A mighty fountain momently w^as forced; 
Amid w^hose swift half-intermitted burst 
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher 's flail : 
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles meandering wdth a ninzy motion 
Through w^ood and dale the sacred river ran, 
Then reach 'd the caverns measureless to man, 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean ; 
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war ! 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 375 

The shadow of the dome of pleasure 

Floated midway on the waves ; 

Where was heard the mingled measure 

From the fountain and the caves. 
It was a miracle of rare device, 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 

A damsel with a dulcimer 

In a vision once I saw : 

It was an Abyssinian maid, 

And on her dulcimer she play'd, 

Singing of Mount Abora. 

Could I revive within me 

Her symphony and song. 
To such a deep delight 'twould win me 
That, with music loud and long, 
I would build that dome in air, 
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
And all who heard should see them there, 
And all should cry, "Beware! Beware! 
His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
Weave a circle round him thrice. 
And close your eyes w^ith holy dread, 
For he on honey-clew hath fed, 
And drunk the milk of Paradise." 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge 



317 THE INNER VISION 

Most sweet it is with un-uplifted eyes 
To pace the ground, if path be there or none, 
While a fair region round the traveller lies 
Which he forbears again to look upon ; 
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene. 



376 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

The work of Fancy, or some happy tone 

Of meditation, slipping in between 

The beauty coming and the beauty gone. 

— If Thought and Love desert us, from that day 

Let us break off all commerce with the Muse : 

With Thought and Love companions of our way— 

Whate 'er the senses take or may refuse, — 

The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews 

Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 

William Wordsivorth 



318* THE REALM OF FANCY 

Ever let the Fancy roam ; 

Pleasure never is at home : 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, 

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; 

Then let winged Fancy wander 

Through the thought still spread beyond her 

Open wide the mind's cage-door, 

She '11 dart forth, and cloudward soar. 

sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 

Summer 's joys are spoilt by use, 

And the enjoying of the Spring 

Fades as does its blossoming ; 

Autumn 's red-lipp 'd fruitage, too. 

Blushing through the mist and dew, 

Cloys with tasting : "What do then ? 

Sit thee by the ingle, when 

The sear faggot blazes bright. 

Spirit of a winter's night; 

When the soundless earth is muffled, 

And the caked snow is shuffled 



JOHN KEATS 377 

From the ploughboy's heavy shoon; 

When the Night doth meet the Noon 

In a dark conspiracy 

To banish Even from her sky. 

Sit thee there, and send abroad, 

With a mind self-overaw'd. 

Fancy, high-commission 'd: — send her! 

She has vassals to attend her: 

She will bring, in spite of frost. 

Beauties that the earth hath lost ; 

She will bring thee, all together. 

All delights of summer weather ; 

All the buds and bells of May, 

From dewy sward or thorny spray; 

All the heaped Autumn 's wealth. 

With a still, mysterious stealth: 

She will mix these pleasures up 

Like three fit wines in a cup. 

And thou shalt quaff it : — thou shalt hear 

Distant harvest-carols clear; 

Rustle of the reaped corn ; 

Sweet birds antheming the morn; 

And, in the same moment — hark! 

'Tis the early April lark, 

Or the rooks, with busy caw. 

Foraging for sticks and straw. 

Thou shalt, at one glance, behold 

The daisy and the marigold ; 

White-plumed lilies, and the first 

Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst; 

Shaded hyacinth, alway 

Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; 

And every leaf, and every flower 

Pearled with the self-same shower. 



378 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 
INIeagre from its celled sleep ; 
And the snake, all winter-thin, 
Cast on sunny bank its skin ; 
Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see 
Hatching in the hawthorn-tree. 
When the hen-bird 's wing doth rest 
Quiet on her mossy nest ; 
Then the hurry and alarm 
When the bee-hive casts its swarm; 
Acorns ripe down-pattering. 
While the autumn breezes sing. 

Oh, sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 
Everything is spoilt by use : 
Where's the cheek that doth not fade. 
Too much gazed at ? Where 's the maid 
Whose lip mature is ever new ? 
Where 's the eye, however blue. 
Doth not weary ? Where 's the face 
One would meet in every place ? 
Where 's the voice, however soft, 
One would hear so very oft ? 
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, 
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. 
Let then winged Fancy find 
Thee a mistress to thy mind : 
Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter. 
Ere the God of Torment taught her 
How to frown and how to chide ; 
With a waist and with a side 
White as Hebe's, when her zone 
Slipt its golden clasp, and down 
Fell her kirtle to her feet. 



JOHN KEATS 379 

While she held the goblet sweet, 

And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh 

Of the Fancy's silken leash; 

Quickly break her prison-string, 

And such joys as these she'll bring. 

— Let the winged Fancy roam, 

Pleasure never is at home. 

John Keats 



319* WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING 

I heard a thousand blended notes, 
While in a grove I sate reclined, 
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 

To her fair works did Nature link 
The human soul that through me ran ; 
And much it grieved my heart to think 
What Man has made of Man. 

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, 
The periwinkle trail 'd its wreaths ; 
And 'tis my faith that every flower 
Enjoys the air it breathes. 

The birds around me hopp 'd and play 'd, 
Their thoughts I cannot measure, — 
But the least motion which they made 
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. 

The budding twigs spread out their fan 
To catch the breezy air ; 



380 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

And I must think, do all I can, 
That there was pleasure there. 

If this belief from heaven be sent, 
If such be Nature 's holy plan. 
Have I not reason to lament 
What Man has made of Man ? 

William Wo7^dsivotih 



320* RUTH: OR THE INFLUENCES OF 
NATURE 

When Ruth was left half desolate. 
Her father took another mate; 
And Ruth, not seven years old, 
A slighted child, at her own will 
Went wandering over dale and hill, 
In thoughtless freedom, bold. 

And she had made a pipe of straw. 
And music from that pipe could draw 
Like sounds of winds and floods; 
Had built a bower upon the green. 
As if she from her birth had been 
An infant of the woods. 

Beneath her father's roof, alone 

She seem 'd to live ; her thoughts her own ; 

Herself her own delight : 

Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay ; 

And passing thus the live-long day, 

She grew to woman's height. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 381 

There came a youth from Georgia's shore — 

A military casque he wore 

With splendid feathers drest ; 

He brought them from the Cherokees ; 

The feathers nodded in the breeze 

And made a gallant crest. 

From Indian blood you deem him sprung : 
But no ! he spake the English tongue 
And bore a soldier's name; 
And, when America was free 
From battle and from jeopardy, 
He 'cross the ocean came. 

With hues of genius on his cheek, 

In finest tones the youth could speak : 

— While he was yet a boy 

The moon, the glory of the sun, 

The streams that murmur as they run 

Had been his dearest joy. 

He was a lovely youth ! I guess 

The panther in the wilderness 

Was not so fair as he ; 

And when he chose to sport and play, 

No dolphin ever was so gay 

Upon the tropic sea. 

Among the Indians he had fought ; 
And with him many tales he brought 
Of pleasure and of fear; 
Such tales as, told to any maid 
By such a youth, in the green shade, 
Were perilous to hear. 



3g2 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

He told of girls, a happy rout ! 

AVho quit their fold with dance and shout, 

Their pleasant Indian town, 

To gather strawberries all day long, 

Returning with a choral song 

"When daylight is gone down. 

He spake of plants that hourly change 
Their blossoms, through a boundless range 
Of intermingling hues ; 
With budding, fading, faded flowers. 
They stand the wonder of the bowers 
From morn to evening dews. 

He told of the magnolia, spread 
High as a cloud, high over head! 
The cypress and her spire ; 
— Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam 
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 
To set the hills on fire. 

The youth of green savannahs spake. 
And many an endless, endless lake 
With all its fairy crowds 
Of islands, that together lie 
As quietly as spots of sky 
Among the evening clouds. 

"How pleasant," then he said, ''it were 

A fisher or a hunter there. 

In sunshine or in shade 

To wander with an easy mind, 

And build a housfihold fire, and find 

A home in every glade ! 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 333 

''What days and what bright years ! Ah, me ! 

Our life were life indeed, with thee 

So pass 'd in quiet bliss ; 

And all the while," said he, ''to know 

That we were in a world of woe, 

On such an earth as this ! ' ' 

And then he sometimes interwove 
Fond thoughts about a father 's love ; 
"For there," said he, "are spun 
Around the heart such tender ties. 
That our own children to our eyes 
Are dearer than the sun. 

"Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me 

My helpmate in the woods to be, 

Our shed at night to rear, 

Or run, my own adopted bride, 

A sylvan huntress at my side, 

And drive the flying deer ! 

"Beloved Ruth!"— No more he said. 
The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed 
A solitary tear : 

She thought again — and did agree 
With him to sail across the sea. 
And drive the flying deer. 

"And now, as fitting is and right, 

We in the church our faith will plight, 

A husband and a wife." 

Even so they did ; and I may say 

That to sweet Ruth that happy day 

Was more than human life. 



384 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Through dream and vision did she sink, 
Delighted all the while to think 
That, on those lonesome floods 
And green savannahs, she should share 
His board with lawful joy, and bear 
His name in the wild woods. 

But, as you have before been told. 
This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold. 
And with his dancing crest 
So beautiful, through savage lands 
Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands 
Of Indians in the West. 

The wind, the tempest roaring high. 

The tumult of a tropic sky 

Might well be dangerous food 

For him, a youth to whom was given 

So much of earth — so much of heaven, 

And such impetuous blood. 

Whatever in those climes he found 
Irregular in sight or sound 
Did to his mind impart 
A kindred impulse, seem'd allied 
To his own powers, and justified 
- The workings of his heart. 

Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, 
The beauteous forms of Nature wrought. 
Fair trees and gorgeous flowers ; 
The breezes their own languor lent ; 
The stars had feelings, which they sent 
Into those favour 'd bowers. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 335 

Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween ' ' 

That sometimes there did intervene 

Pure hopes of high intent ; 

For passions link'd to forms so fair 

And stately, needs must have their share 

Of noble sentiment. 

But ill he lived, much evil saw, 
With men to whom no better law 
Nor better life was known ; 
Deliberately and undeceived, 
Those wdlcl men's vices he received, 
And gave them back his own. 

His genius and his moral frame 
Were thus impair 'd, and he became 
The slave of low desires : 
A man who without self-control 
Would seek what the degraded soul 
Unworthily admires. 

And yet he with no feign 'd delight 
Had woo'd the maiden, day and night 
Had loved her, night and morn: 
What could he less than love a maid 
Whose heart with so much nature play'd — 
So kind and so forlorn ? 

Sometimes most earnestly he said, 

'^0 Ruth! I have been worse than dead; 

False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain 

Encompass 'd me on every side 

When I, in confidence and pride, 

Had cross 'd the Atlantic main. 



386 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

''Before me shone a glorious world 
Fresh as a banner bright, unfurl 'd 
To music suddenly : 
I look'd upon those hills and plains, 
And seem 'd as if let loose from chains 
To live at liberty ! 

''No more of this — for now, by thee, 
Dear Ruth, more happily set free. 
With nobler zeal I burn ; 
My soul from darkness is released. 
Like the whole sky when to the east 
The morning doth return." 

Full soon that better mind was gone ; 
No hope, no wish remain 'd, not one, — 
They stirr 'd him now no more ; 
New objects did not pleasure give. 
And once again he wish'd to live 
As lawless as before. 

Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared. 
They for the voyage were prepared. 
And went to the sea-shore ; 
But, when they thither came, the youth 
Deserted his poor bride, and Ruth 
Could never find him more. 

God help thee, Ruth ! — Such pains she had 

That she in half a year was mad 

And in a prison housed; 

And there, with many a doleful song 

Made of wild words, her cup of wrong 

She fearfully caroused. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 337 

Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, 

Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 

Nor pastimes of the May, ' 

— They all were with her in her cell; 

And a clear brook with cheerful knell 

Did 'er the pebbles play. 

When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 
There came a respite to her pain; 
She from her prison fled ; 
But of the Vagrant none took thought; 
And where it liked her best she sought 
Her shelter and her bread. 

Among the fields she breathed again; 
The master-current of her brain 
Ran permanent and free ; 
And, coming to the banks of Tone, 
There did she rest; and dwell alone 
Under the greenwood tree. 

The engines of her pain, the tools 

That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools. 

And airs that gently stir 

The vernal leaves — she loved them still, 

Nor ever taxed them with the ill 

Which had been done to her. 

A barn her Winter bed supplies ; 

But, till the warmth of Summer skies 

And Summer days is gone, 

(And all do in this tale agree) 

She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, 

And other home hath none. 



388 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

An innocent life, yet far astray ! 

And Ruth will, long before her day, 

Be broken down and old. 

Sore aches she needs must have ! but less 

Of mind, than body's wretchedness, 

From damp, and rain, and cold. 

If she is prest by want of food, 
She from her dwelling in the wood 
Repairs to a road-side ; 
And there she begs at one steep place, 
AYhere up and down with easy pace 
The horsemen-travellers ride. 

That oaten pipe of hers is mute 
Or thrown away ; but with a flute 
Her loneliness she cheers ; 
This flute, made of a hemlock stalk. 
At evening in his homeward walk 
The Quantock woodman hears. 

I, too, have pass'd her on the hills 

Setting her little water-mills 

By spouts and fountains wild — 

Such small machinery as she turn'd 

Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn 'd, — 

A young and happy child ! 

Farewell ! and when th}" days are told, 

Ill-fated Ruth ! in hallow 'd mould 

Thy corpse shall buried be ; 

For thee a funeral bell shall ring, 

And all the congregation sing 

A Christian psalm for thee. 

William Wordsworth 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 339 

321* 

WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS 

Many a green isle needs must be 
In the deep, wide sea of Misery, 
Or the mariner, worn and wan, 
Never thus could voyage on, 
Day and night, and night and day. 
Drifting on his dreary way. 
With the solid darkness black 
Closing round his vessel's track; 
Whilst above, the sunless sky 
Big with clouds, hangs heavily, 
And behind the tempest fleet 
Hurries on with lightning feet, 
Riving sail, and cord, and plank, 
Till the ship has almost drank 
Death from the 'er-brimming deep ; 
And sinks down, down, like that sleep 
When the dreamer seems to be 
Weltering through eternity ; 
And the dim, low line before 
Of a dark and distant shore 
Still recedes, as ever still 
Longing with divided will. 
But no power to seek or shun, 
He is ever drifted on 
O'er the unreposing wave, 
To the haven of the grave. 

Ah, many flowering islands lie 
In the waters of wide Agony : 
To such a one this morn was led 
My bark, by soft winds piloted. 



390 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

— 'Mid the mountains Euganean 

I stood listening to the paean 

With which the legion 'd rooks did hail 

The Sun 's uprise majestical : 

Gathering round with wings all hoar, 

Through the dewy mist they soar 

Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven 

Bursts ; and then, — as clouds of even 

Fleck 'd with fire and azure, lie 

In the unfathomable sky, — 

So their plumes of purple grain, 

Starr 'd with drops of golden rain, 

Gleam above the sunlight woods. 

As in silent multitudes 

On the morning's fitful gale 

Through the broken mist they sail ; 

And the vapours cloven and gleaming 

Follow down the dark steep streaming. 

Till all is bright, and clear, and still 

Round the solitary hill. 

Beneath is spread like a green sea 
The waveless plain of Lombardy, 
Bounded by the vaporous air, 
Islanded by cities fair ; 
Underneath Day's azure eyes, 
Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, — 
A peopled labyrinth of walls, 
Amphitrite 's destined halls. 
Which her hoary sire now paves 
With his blue and beaming waves. 
Lo ! the sun upsprings behind, 
Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined 
On the level quivering line 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 39I 

Of the waters crystalline ; 

And before that chasm of light, 

As within a furnace bright, 

Column, tower, and dome, and spire, 

Shine like obelisks of fire, 

Pointing with inconstant motion 

From the altar of dark ocean 

To the sapphire-tinted skies. 

As the flames of sacrifice 

From the marble shrines did rise, 

As to pierce the dome of gold 

Where Apollo spoke of old. 

Sun-girt City ! thou hast been 
Ocean 's child, and then his queen ; 
Now is come a darker day. 
And thou soon must be his prey, 
If the power that raised thee here 
Hallow so thy watery bier. 
A less drear ruin then than now. 
With thy conquest-branded brow 
Stooping to the slave of slaves 
From thy throne among the waves 
Wilt thou be, — when the sea-mew 
Flies, as once before it flew. 
O'er thine isles depopulate. 
And all is in its ancient state. 
Save where many a palace-gate 
With green sea-flowers overgrown. 
Like a rock of ocean's own, 
Topples 'er the abandon 'd sea 
As the tides change sullenly. 
The fisher on his watery way 
Wandering at the close of day, 



392 THE GOLDEN TKEAISURY 

Will spread his sail and seize his oar 
Till he pass the gloomy shore, 
Lest thy dead should, from this sleep, 
Bursting o'er the starlight deep, 
Lead a rapid masque of death 
'er the waters of his path. 

Noon descends around me now: 
'Tis the noon of autumn's glow, 
When a soft and purple mist 
Like a vaporous amethyst, 
Or an air-dissolved star 
]\Iingling light and fragrance, far 
From the curved horizon's bound 
To the point of heaven's profound, 
Fills the overflowing sky 
And the plains that silent lie 
Underneath ; the leaves unsodden 
Where the infant Frost has trodden 
With his morning-winged feet 
Whose bright print is gleaming yet; 
And the red and golden vines 
Piercing with their trellised lines 
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness; 
The dun and bladed grass no less. 
Pointed from this hoary tower 
In the windless air ; the flower 
Glimmering at my feet ; the line 
Of the olive-sandall 'd Appennine 
In the south dimly islanded ; 
And the Alps, whose snows are spread 
High between the clouds and sun ; 
And of living things each one ; 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY . 393 

And my spirit, which so long 

Darken 'd this swift stream of song, — 

Interpenetrated lie 

By the glory of the sky ; 

Be it love, light, harmony, 

Odour, or the soul of all 

Which from heaven like dew doth fall, 

Or the mind which feeds this verse. 

Peopling the lone universe. 

Noon descends, and after noon 
Autumn's evening meets me soon, 
Leading the infantine moon 
And that one star, which to her 
Almost seems to minister 
Half the crimson light she brings 
From the sunset 's radiant springs : 
And the soft dreams of the morn 
(Which like winged winds had borne 
To that silent isle, which lies 
'Mid remember 'd agonies. 
The frail bark of this lone being), 
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, 
And its ancient pilot. Pain, 
Sits beside the helm again. 

Other flowering isles must be 
In the sea of Life and Agony ; 
Other spirits float and flee 
O'er that gulf; Ev'n now, perhaps. 
On some rock the wild wave wraps 
With folded wings they waiting sit 
For my bark, to pilot it 



394 . THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

To some calm and blooming cove; 

Where for me, and those I love, 

May a windless bower be built, 

Far from passion, pain, and guilt. 

In a dell 'mid lawny hills 

Which the wild sea-murmur fills, 

And soft sunshine, and the sound 

Of old forests echoing round. 

And the light and smell divine 

Of all flowers that breathe and shine. 

— We may live so happy there 

That the Spirits of the Air 

Envying us, may ev'n entice 

To our healing paradise 

The polluting multitude : 

But their rage would be subdued 

By that clime divine and calm. 

And the winds whose wings rain balm 

On the uplifted soul, and leaves 

Under which the bright sea heaves; 

While each breathless interval 

In their whisperings musical 

The inspired soul supplies 

With its own deep melodies ; 

And the Love which heals all strife, 

Circling, like the breath of life, 

All things in that sweet abode 

With its own mild brotherhood : — 

They, not it, would change ; and soon 

Every sprite beneath the moon 

Would repent its envy vain. 

And the Earth grow young again. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 395 

322 ODE TO THE WEST WIND 

Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. 
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red. 
Pestilence-stricken multitudes ! thou 
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, 
Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
With living hues and odours plain and hill : 
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; 
Destroyer and Preserver : Hear, oh hear ! 

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's com- 
motion, 
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, 
Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean, 
Angels of rain and lightning ! there are spread 
On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 
Of some fierce Maenad, ev 'n from the dim verge 
Of the horizon to the zenith's height — 
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 
Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 
Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : Oh hear ! 

Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams 
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay. 



396 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams, 
Beside a pumice -isle in Baiae's bay, 
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
Quivering within the wave 's intenser day, 
All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers 
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 
For whose path the Atlantic 's level powers 
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods, which wear 
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear 
And tremble and despoil themselves : Oh hear ! 

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; 
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
The impuse of thy strength, only less free 
Than Thou, uncontrollable ! If even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven. 
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
Scarce seem'd a vision, — I would ne'er have striven 
As thus with thee in prayer, in my sore need. 
Oh ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 
A heavy weight of hours has chain 'd and bow 'd 
One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and proud. 

Make me thy lyre, ev 'n as the forest is : 
"What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou. Spirit fierce, 
My spirit ! be thou me, impetuous one ! 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 397 

Drive 1113^ dead thoughts over the universe, 
Like wither 'd leaves, to quicken a new birth ; 
And, by the incantation of this verse, 
Scatter, as from an unextinguish 'd hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
Be through my lips, to unawaken 'd earth. 
The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, 
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? 

Percy Bysshc Shelley 



323 NATURE AND THE POET 

Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, 
painted by Sir George Beaumont 

I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! 
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee : 
I saw thee every day ; and all the while 
Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 

So pure the sl^, so quiet was the air! 
So like, so very like, was day to day ! 
Whene 'er T look 'd, thy image still was there ; 
It trembled, but it never pass'd away. 

How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep, 
No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 
I could have fancied that the mighty Deep 
Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. 

Ah! then — if mine had been the painter's hand 
To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, 
The light that never was on sea or land, 
The consecration, and the Poet's dream, — 



398 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

I would have planted tliee, thou hoary pile, 
Amid a world how different from this ! 
Beside a sea that coald not cease to smile, 
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 

Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house divine 
Of peaceful years ; a chronicle of heaven ; — 
Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine 
The very sweetest had to thee been given. 

A picture had it been of lasting ease, 
Elysian quiet, Avithout toil or strife: 
No motion but the moving tide, a breeze ; 
Or merely silent Nature 's breathing life. 

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 

Such picture would I at that time have made ; 

And seen the soul of truth in every part, 

A steadfast peace that might not be betray 'd. 

So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more; 
I have submitted to a new control : 
A power is gone which nothing can restore ; 
A deep distress hath humanized my soul. 

Not for a moment could I now behold 
A smiling sea, and be what I have been : 
The feeling of my loss will ne 'er be old ; 
This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 

Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the friend 
If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore. 
This work of thine I blame not, but commend: 
This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 399 

'tis a passionate work ! — yet wise and well, 
Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; 

That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, 
This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear ! 

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 

1 love to see the look with which it braves, 

— Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time — 

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 

— Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, 
Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind ! 
Such happiness, wherever it be known. 
Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind. 

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, 
And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! 
Such sights, or worse, as are before me here : — 
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 

William Wo7xIs worth 



324* THE POET'S DREAM 

On a Poet's lips I slept, 

Dreaming like a love-adept 

In the sound his breathing kept ; 

Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses. 

But feeds on the aerial kisses 

Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesses. 

He will watch from dawn to gloom 

The lake-reflected sun illume 

The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, 

Nor heed nor see what things they be — 



400 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

But from these create he can 
Forms more real than living Man, 
Nurslings of Immortality ! 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



325* GLEN-ALMAIN, THE NARROW GLEN 

In this still place, remote from men, 

Sleeps Ossian, in the Narrow Glen ; 

In this still place, where murmurs on 

But one meek streamlet, only one. 

He sang of battles, and the breath 

Of stormy war, and violent death ; 

And should, methinks, when all was past, 

Have rightfully been laid at last 

Where rocks were rudely heap 'd and rent 

As by a spirit turbulent ; 

Where sights w^ere rough, and sounds were wild, 

And everything unreconciled ; 

In some complaining, dim retreat, 

For fear and melancholy meet ; 

But this is calm ; there cannot be 

A more entire tranquility. 

Does then the Bard sleep here indeed ? 
Or is it but a groundless creed ? 
What matters it ? — I blame them not 
Whose fancy in this lonely spot 
Was moved ; and in such way express 'd 
Their notion of its perfect rest. 
A convent, even a hermit's cell. 
Would break the silence of this Dell : 
It is not quiet, is not ease; 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 401 

But something deeper far than these : 
The separation that is here 
Is of the grave ; and of austere 
Yet happy feelings of the dead : 
And, therefore, was it rightly said 
That Ossian, last of all his race ! 
Lies buried in this lonely place. 

William Wordsworth. 

326* 

The World is too much with us; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; 
Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, 
The winds that will be howling at all hours 
And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers, 
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; 
It moves us not, — Great God ! I 'd rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, — 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 
William Wordsworth. 



327 WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, 
CAMBRIDGE 

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, 
With ill-match 'd aims, the Architect who plann'd 
(Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense 



402 THE GOLDEX TREASURY 

And glorious work of fine intelligence ! 

— Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 

Of nicelj'-calculated less or more : — 

So deem'd the man who fashion 'd for the sense 

These loft}^ pillars, spread that branching roof, 

Self-poised and scoop 'd into ten thousand cells 

Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 

Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die ; 

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 

That they were born for immortality. 

William ^yonIsworth. 



328 ODE ON A GRECIAN URN 

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, 

Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, 
Sjdvan historian, who canst thus express 

A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme : 
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape 

Of deities or mortals, or of both. 
In Tempe or the dales of Arcadyf 
What men or gods are these ? What maidens loth ? 

What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? 
What pipes and timbrels ? What wild ecstasy 

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on : 

Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear 'd, 
Pipe, to the spirit, ditties of no tone. 

Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; 
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, 



JOHN KEATS 403 

Though Avinnmg near the goal — yet, do not grieve : 
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, 
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair ! 

Ah, happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed 

Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu ; 
And, happy melodist, unwearied, 

For ever piping songs for ever new ; 
]\[ore happy love ! more happy, happy love ! 

For ever warm and still to be enjoy 'd. 
For ever panting, and for ever j^oung ; 
All breathing human passion far above. 

That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and eloy'd, 
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 

Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? 

To what green altar, O mysterious priest, 
Lead 'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies. 

And all her silken flanks with garlands drest ? 
What little town by river or sea shore, 

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn ? 
And, little town, thy streets for evermore 

Will silent be ; and not a soul, to teir 
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. 

O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede 
Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 

With forest branches and the trodden weed ; 
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought 

As doth eternity. Cold Pastoral ! 

When old age shall this generation waste, 
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 



404 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 
''Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all 
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. ' ' 

John Keats 



329 YOUTH AND AGE 

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, 
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — 
Both were mine ! Life went a-maying 
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
When I was young ! 
When I was young ? — Ah, woful when! 
Ah ! for the change 'twixt Now and Then. 
This breathing house not built with hands, 
This body that does me grievous wrong, 
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands 
How lightly then it flash 'd along: 
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, 
On winding lakes and rivers wide. 
That ask no aid of sail or oar. 
That fear no spite of wind or tide ! 
Nought cared this body for wind or weather 
When Youth and I lived in't together. 

Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ; 
Friendship is a sheltering tree; 
! the joys, that came down shower-like, 
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 

Ere I was old ! 
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere, 
Which tells me Youth's no longer here! 
Youth ! for years so many and sweet 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 495 

'Tis known that Thou and I were one, 
I'll think it but a fond conceit — 
It cannot be that Thou art gone! 
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll 'd : — 
And thou wert aye a masker bold ! 
What strange disguise hast now put on 
To make believe that Thou art gone? 
I see these locks in silvery slips, 
This drooping gait, this alter 'd size : 
But Springtide blossoms on thy lips, 
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! 
Life is but Thought : so think I will 
That Youth and I are house-mates still. 

Dew-drops are the gems of morning, 
But the tears of mournful eve ! 
Where no hope is, life's a warning 
That only serves to make us grieve 

When we are old : 
— That only serves to make us grieve 
With oft and tedious taking-leave, 
Like some poor nigh-related guest 
That may not rudely be dismist. 
Yet hath out-stay 'd his welcome while, 
And tells the jest without the smile. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge 



330 THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS 

We w^alk'd along, while bright and red 
Uprose the morning sun ; 
And Matthew stopp'd, he look'd, and said 
''The will of God be done!" 



406 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

A village schoolmaster was he, 
With hair of glittering gray ; 
As blithe a man as you could see 
On a spring holiday. 

And on that morning, through the grass 
And by the steaming rills 
We traveird merrily, to pass 
A day among the hills. 

* ' Our work, ' ' said I, ' ' was well begun ; 
Then, from thy breast what thought, 
Beneath so beautiful a sun, 
So sad a sigh has brought ? ' ' 

A second time did Matthew stop ; 
And fixing still his eye 
Upon the eastern mountain-top. 
To me he made reply : 

''Yon cloud with that long purple cleft 
Brings fresh into my mind 
A day like this, which I have left 
Full thirty years behind. 

''And just above yon slope of corn 
Such colours, and no other, 
Were in the sky that April morn, 
Of this the very brother. 

' ' With rod and line I sued the sport 
Which that sweet season gave. 
And, to the church-yard come, sto])]^ 'd short 
Beside my daughter's grave. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 407 

''Nine summers had she scarcely seen, 
The pride of all the vale ; 
And then she sang, — she would have been 
A very nightingale. 

''Six feet in earth my Emma lay; 
And yet I loved her more — 
For so it seem 'd, — than till that day 
I e 'er had loved before. 

"And turning from her grave, I met, 
Beside the churchyard yew, 
A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet 
With points of morning dew. 

' ' A basket on her head she bare ; 
Iler brow was smooth and white : 
To see a child so very fair 
It was a pure delight ! 

"No fountain from its rocky cave 
E 'er tripp 'd with foot so free ; 
She seem'd as happy as a wave 
That dances on the sea. 

"There came from me a sigh of pain, 
Which I could ill confine ; 
I look'd at her, and look 'd again : — 
And did not wish her mine ! ' ' 

— Matthew is in his grave, yet now 
Methinks I see him stand 
As at that moment, with a bough 
Of wilding in his hand. 

William Wordsworth 



408 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

331* THE FOUNTAIN 

A Conversation 

We talked with open heart, and tongue 
Affectionate and true, 
A pair of friends, though I was young 
And Matthew seventy-two. 

We lay beneath a spreading oak, 
Beside a mossy seat ; 
And from the turf a fountain broke 
And gurgled at our feet. 

''Now, Matthew!" said I, ''let us match 
This water 's pleasant tune 
With some old border-song or catch 
That suits a summer's noon; 

" Or of the church-clock and the chimes 
Sing here beneath the shade. 
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 
Which you last April made!" 

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
The spring beneath the tree ; 
And thus the dear old man replied 
The gray-hair 'd man of glee : 

"No check, no stay this Streamlet fears. 
How merrily it goes ! 
'Twill murmur on a thousand years 
And flow as now it flows. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 409 

*'And here, on this delightful day, 
I cannot choose but think 
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 
Beside this fountain's brink. 

^'My eyes are dim with childish tears, 
My heart is idly stirr 'd, 
For the same sound is in my ears 
Which in those days I heard. 

* ' Thus fares it still in our decay : 
And yet the wiser mind 
Mourns less for what Age takes away, 
Than what it leaves behind. 

* ' The blackbird amid leafy trees. 

The lark above the hill. 

Let loose their carols when they please, 

Are quiet when they will. 

''With Nature never do they wage 
A foolish strife; they see 
A happy youth, and their old age 
Is beautiful and free : 

''But we are press 'd by heavy laws; 
And often, glad no more, 
We wear a face of joy, because 
We have been glad of yore. 

"If there be one who need bemoan 
His kindred laid in earth. 
The household hearts that were his own, — 
It is the man of mirth. 



410 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

''My days, my friend, are almost gone, 
My life has been approved, 
And many love me; bnt by none 
Am I enough beloved." 

''Now both himself and me he wrongs, 
The man who thus complains ! 
I live and sing my idle songs 
Upon these happy plains : 

"And Matthew, for thy children dead 
I'll be a son to thee!" 
At this he grasp 'd my hand and said, 
"Alas! that cannot be." 

— We rose up from the fountain-side; 
And down the smooth descent 
Of the green sheep-track did we glide ; 
And through the wood we went ; 

And ere we came to Leonard's rock 
He sang those witty rhymes 
About the crazy old church-clock 
And the bewilder 'd chimes. 

William Words worth 



332* THE RIVER OF LIFE 

The more we live, more brief appear 
Our life's succeeding stages: 

A day to childhood seems a year, 
And years like passing ages. 



THOMAS CAMPBELL 411 

The gladsome current of our youth, 

Ere passion yet disorders, 
Steals lingering like a river smooth 

Along its grassy borders. 

But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, 

And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, 
Ye Stars that measure life to man. 

Why seem your courses quicker ? 

When joys have lost their bloom and breath 

And life itself is vapid, 
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, 

Feel we its tide more rapid ? 

It may be strange — yet who would change 

Time's course to slower speeding, 
When one by one our friends have gone 

And left our bosoms bleeding ? 

Heaven gives our years of fading strength 

Indemnifying fleetness ; 
And those of youth, a seeming length. 

Proportion 'd to their sweetness. 

TJiomas Camphell 



333* THE HUMAN SEASONS 

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year ; 
There are four seasons in the mind of man 
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear 
Takes in all beauty with an easy span ; 
He has his Summer, when luxuriously 



412 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Spring's honey 'd cud of youthful thought he loves 

To ruminate, and by such dreaming high 

Is nearest unto heaven. Quiet coves 

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings 

He furleth close ; contented so to look 

On mists in idleness — to let fair things 

Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. 

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature. 

Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 

John Keats 



334 A DIRGE 

Rough wind, that moanest loud 

Grief too sad for song : 
Wild wind, when sullen cloud 

Knells all the night long ; 
Sad storm whose tears are vain. 
Bare woods whose branches strain. 
Deep caves and dreary main, — 
Wail for the world's wrong! 

Percij Bysshe Shelley 



335 THRENOS 

0. World ! Life ! Time ! 
On whose last steps I climb. 

Trembling at that where I had stood before ; 
When will return the glory of your prime ? 
No more — Oh, never more! 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight : 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 4]^3 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 
No more — Oh, never more ! 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 

336 THE TROSACHS 

There 's not a nook within this solemn Pass, 

But were an apt confessional for One 

Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 

That Life is but a tale of morning grass 

Wither 'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase 

That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 

Feed it 'mid Nature 's old felicities : 

Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass 

Untouch 'd, unbreathed upon: — Thrice happy quest. 

If from a golden perch of aspen spray 

(October's workmanship to rival May), 

The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast 

That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay. 

Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest ! 

William Wordsworth 

337* 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky : 
So was it when my life began, 
So is it now I am a man, 
So be it when I shall grow old, 

Or let me die ! 
The Child is father of the Man : 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to -each by natural piety. 
William Wordsworth 



414 THE GOLDEN TKEASURY 

338 ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY, 

FEOM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY 

CHILDHOOD 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
The earth, and every common sight 
To me did seem 
Appareird in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — 
Turn wheresoe 'er I may. 
By night or day. 
The things which I have seen I noAV can see no more. 

The rainbow comes and goes ; 

And lovely is the rose; 

The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 

Waters on a starry night 

Are beautiful and fair; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go. 
That there hath past away a glory from the earth. 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 
And while the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief ; 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong. 
The cataracts. blow their trumpets from the steep; — 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong : 
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 



WILLIA:\I WORDSWORTH 415 

And all the earth is gay ; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity, 

And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday ; — 
Thou child of joy, 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
Shepherd-boy ! 

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
IMy heart is at your festival, 
]\Iy head hath its coronal, 
The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 
Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 
While Earth herself is adorning 

This sweet May-morning ; 
And the children are culling 

On every side. 
In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm 
And the babe leaps up on his mother 's arm — 
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
— But there's a tree, of many, one, 
A single field which I have look'cl upon, 
Both of them speak of something that is gone ; 
The pansy at my feet 
Doth the same tale repeat : 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam? 
Where it is now, the glory and the dream? 

Our ])irth is but a sleep and a forgetting; 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 



416 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Hath had elsewhere its setting 

And cometh from afar; 
Not in entire forgetfulness, 
And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory d@ we come 

From God, who is our home. 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But he beholds the light and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the east 
Must travel, still is Nature 's priest, 
And by the vision splendid 
Is on his way attended ; 
At length the Man perceives it die away 
And fade into the light of common day. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind; 
And, even with something of a mother's mind 

And no unworthy aim, 
The homely nurse, doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, 

Forget the glories he hath Imown 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 

A six years ' darling of a pigmy size ! 

See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 

Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses. 

With light upon him from his father's eyes! 

See at his feet some little plan or chart, 

Some fragment from his dream of human life. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 417 

Shaped by himself with newly-learned art : 

A wedding or a fastival, 

A mourning or a funeral ; 

And this hath now his heart, 

And unto this he frames his song. 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside, 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part; 
Filling from time to time his ''humorous stage'' 
With all the persons, down to palsied Age, 
That life brings with her in her equipage, — 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul 's immensity ; 
Thou blest philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind. 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted for ever by the eternal Mind, — 

IMighty Prophet! Seer blest! 

On whom those truths do rest 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
Thou, over whom thy Immortality 
Broods like the day, a master 'er a slave, 
A Presence which is not to be put by ; 
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height. 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 



418 TIIK aOLDKN TREASURY 

Thus bliiuUy with thy hh^ssodncss at strife? 
Pull soon thy soul shall have her earthly fnught, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weiiiiit 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! 

O joy! that in our iMubers 
Is somethiuii' that doth livt\ 
That Nature yet remembers 
What was so fut}:itive ! 
The thouiilit o[' our past years in me tlotli breinl 
l^erpetual benediction — not indeed 
For that which is most worthy to be blest : 
l)eliti:ht and liberty, the simple cnwl 
Of Childhood, whether busy oi- at ri>st, 
AVith uew-Hed»»:ed hoi)e still lluttei-inj;' in liis breast 
— Not for these I rais(» 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate (piestiouiu^xs 
Of sense and outward things. 
Fallings from ns, vanishings, 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
proving about in worlds not realizinl, 
High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surpriscnl ; 
But for those first affections, 
Those shadowy recollections, 

"Which, be they what they may, 
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, 
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing. 

Uphold us, cherish, aiul have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in tlie being 
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, 

To perish n(>ver ; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 



WTLLIA,M WORDSWORTH 4^9 

Nor man nor boy, 
\or all that is at enmity with joy, 
Call utterly abolish or destroy! 

Hence, in a season of calm weather 
Thought inland far we be, 
Our souls have sighf of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither ; 
Can in a moment travel thither — 
And see the children sport upon the shore, 
Ati<\ \i('/dr the r/jighty waters rolling evermore. 

Then, sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 

And let the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound ! 
We, in thought, will join your throng 

Ye that pipe and ye that play, 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the :\Iay ! 
What though the radiance which was once so bright 
I^e now for ever taken from my sight, 

Thou'-di nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; 

We will grieve not, rather find 

Strength in what remains behind: 

In the primal sympathy 

Wljich, having been, must ever be; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering; 

In the faith that looks througli death; 
In years tliat bring the philosophic mind. 

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 
Ffjrbode not any s-vering of our loves! 
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 



420 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

I only have relinquish 'd one delight 

To live beneath your more habitual sway : 

I love the brooks which down their channels fret 

Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they; 

The innocent brightness of a new-born day 

Is lovely yet ; 
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o 'er man 's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

William Wordsworth. 



339^ 



Music, when soft voices die, 
Vibrates in the memory — 
Odours, when sweet violets sicken, 
Live within the sense they quicken. 

Kose leaves, when the rose is dead. 
Are heap 'd for the beloved 's bed ; 
And so thy thoughts, when Thou art gone, 
Love itself shall slumber on. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 



NOTES 

BOOK ONE 

1 

The noteworthy qualities in this spring song are the 
frequent repetitions of the rhyming sounds, the gaiety 
of the movement, and the large number of pictures 
flashed upon the canvas. Let your mind fill in the de- 
tails of these pictures and try to catch the joyful mood 
of the poet. 

Read in a sprightly manner, stressing the rhyme- 
words and endeavoring to suggest the birds' song in the 
last verse. 

2 

This song is sung by the fairy Ariel in ' ' The Tempest. ' ' 
He is about to be liberated from service to a magician; 
he sings this snatch of song in joyful prospect of deliver- 
ance. Notice the frequency with which the ''i "-sound 
occurs in the rhyme. Notice also the alliteration in lines 
3 and 7. This all makes for lightness of sound and 
movement. Notice the change of movement at the begin- 
ning of the sixth line : the trochaic metre is changed to 
the dactyllic. Both are gay movements, but the latter 
is more lively. 

Read lightly and rapidly, trying to express the joy of 
the fairy. 

3 

Another song from ''The Tempest." Ariel is drawing 
Prince Ferdinand along by magic music. The last part 

421 



422 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

of the song is nioaiit to be somewhat iionsetisieal. The 
barking of the clog and the crowing of the cock were 
probably intended to eome from back of the stage, thus 
confusing Ferdinand and suggesting supernatural 
agencies. 

Notice how tlie movement of the lines suggest the wild, 
irregular dancing of fairies. The first line movers swiftly 
and rhythmically, the accent falling on every other 
syllable : 

Come' un-to' these yel'-low sands'. 
But in the next line the movement is slow and stately, 
as if the dnnccM's wei'e almost walking: 

And then take hands. 
The third line is rapid again, the fourth slow. Then the 
tempo grows more rapid and irn^gulai", as if tlie dnncers 
were whirling through some intricate measure. Notice 
also the alliteration, w^hich makes the stressed syllables 
yet more emphatic and suggests the strict tempo of dance 
nuisic : 

Ourtsicd when you have and /.issed 

The i/'ild craves //"hist 

i^oot it /eatly 

The burthen ?>ear 

The .9/rain of .s/rutting chanticleer 
Line 4 probably means 'Mvissed the waves into silence." 

4 

This poem is divided into four sections: sunnnons to 
the sun ; statement of what this ^lay ineans to the ]^nct ; 
invocation to the sun (''Fair King"), to Mora, and 
the winds; the poet's exj^cM'tation oC his misti'css. 

Observer the irregularity in length of line and the com- 
plicated rliyme-scheme. Observer how the meaning is 



NOTES 423 

cnrricd over Ffoiii vci'sc lo verse juhI liow lon^ some of 
tlie seiiteiiees iwv. Observe also the l)eaulirul, highly- 
colored pietures. 

Tn readiiii^' aloud try to <>xpress the grace and dignity 
of tlie poem. ]jet the voice linger on the strong, pic- 
tures(jne phrases, and run rapidly over the nnemi)hatic 
ones. Read the ideas as sentences, not as lines; and let 
the long, flowing sentences rise at the end to a climax. 
Read in a tone that is somewhat loud and deep and sus- 
tained, occasionally varying this as the meaning and 
movement suggest. P'or example : the third section be- 
gins rather low and works up to a climax in the line 
''Did once thy h(iart surprise." From this on to the 
end of the section the tone is level and smooth ; and 
when the fourth section begins, it is yery soft and sub- 
dued. The lyric, when well read, is full of pomp, yet 
full of beautiful nmsical effects as the sound rises and 
falls and the movement Mows and ebbs. 

This ])oem contains several references to mythology, 
which must be looked up l)efore the student attempts to 
read aloud. 

5 

Shakespeare's sonnets are remarkable for their intel- 
lectual content, their emotional intensity, and their 
felicity of phrasing. In studying them it is well, first 
of all, to get the meaning. 

The main thought of this sonnet is easy to grasp : it 
is, that since tim(? changes everything, it will take his 
love (his friend) away, sometime: former, store: quan- 
tity, state: condition, confounded: ruined. Eternal 
modifies ''brass." The third line of the second quatrain 
means, that the firm soil wins land from the ocean. The 
antecedent of which, in line 13, is "thought." 



424 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Examine the phraseology and see how picturesque and 
forcible it is: "Time's fell hand;" "rich proud cost" 
("rich" is almost an adverb here, modifying "proud") ; 
"outworn, buried age;" "hungry ocean;" "kingdom of 
the shore." 

Now read the poem aloud. Remember that the thought 
is not finished until the end of the twelfth line, though 
of course you will make a brief pause after each clause. 
Work up to a climax and put much stress on ' ' Love ' ' in 
line 13. Bring out the contrasts in the second quatrain 
and in the first two lines of the third quatrain. En- 
deavor to make the whole thought as well as the details 
intelligible. 

But we are not through with our study yet. Shake- 
speare must have emploj^ed all his artistic skill in polish- 
ing these sonnets of his, and we will do well to study 
after him. Read the first line, for example, and observe 
the beautiful combinations of sounds. Notice how "I" 
and "time", "have" and "hand", "/ell" and "de- 
/aced" pair off and echo each other. Notice also the 
fainter vowel echoes in "when" and "fell", and the 
consonant echoes in "seen", "Time's", and "defaced." 
Read the whole line again and listen to the musical flow 
of the sounds. Now read the poem through, a line at a 
time, lingering over those that fall pleasantly on the ear. 
Almost every line will reveal some beauty of phrase. 
When you have done this, read the sonnet as a whole, 
endeavoring to express the beauty of every line and the 
majesty of the complete thought. 

6 
Same theme as in the preceding. Here the thoughts 
are expressed in rhetorical questions. The couplet, as 



NOTES 425 

usual, adds a new idea. Notice in how many ways the 
same idea is expressed in these two sonnets. 

The first line is elliptical ; it means ' ' Since there is 
no brass", etc. hut, line 2: but that, mortality: death. 
rage: poAver — that is, death. Line 12 means "Who can 
keep Time from destroying Beauty, from taking spoils 
from it." The miracle referred to in line 13 is explained 
in the next line: that the poet's love shines bright in 
black ink — a sort of pun. 

Visualize the figures of speech. In the second quatrain 
reconstruct the picture of the siege of a walled town. 
*' Battering da3^s" is a splendid figure. '^ Summer's 
honey breath" refers, of course, to the life of his friend. 

IMurmur over the poem line by line to get the beauty 
of the sounds; then read the whole sonnet,' trying to 
bring out clearly and musically the central idea and all 
the details. Stress the contrasted words: "beauty" in 
line 3, contrasted with "brass", "stone", etc., in line 
1; "hand", and "foot" in line 11; "black", and 
"bright" in line 14. 

7 

This pastoral lyric is very simple in subject matter 
and in form ; simplicity should therefore mark the read- 
ing. The student should enter into the spirit of the 
selection, should visualize the pictures vividly, and 
should endeavor to give adequate expression to the 
simple, dainty, musical notes. 

Notice the alliteration throughout, and the pleasant 
combinations of vowels and consonants. Notice the 
liquids in the second and other stanzas, and the feminine 
rhymes in the third. All this is to produce the soft, 
melodious undertone for which the poem is noted. 



426 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Stanza six probably did nut belong in the original. 
The imagery is not like that in the other stanzas. 

8 

A gay, fanciful poem, capricious in metrical construc- 
tion. The rhyme-scheme is somewhat complicated; the 
verses vary in length ; there are several feminine rhymes ; 
and the metre changes easily from trochaic to iambic. 
Read it lightly, carrying the movement on from line to 
line as the meaning dictates, stressing the short, emphatic 
lines. 

fond; foolish, fancying; loving, house; abiding place, 
referring to the person of the poet's mistress. 

9 
Perhaps this lyric expresses the sentiment of a young 
shepherdess trying to decide between an aged suitor and 
a young one. It is a series of contrasts, ending with the 
scornful banishment of age and the passionate invita- 
tion to youth. We can imagine that the young singer 
is extemporizing: the irregularity of the rhyme-scheme 
and other characteristics bear out that impression. A 
student once remarked that after the line "Age, I do 
abhor thee," the maiden turns from her aged suitor and 
speaks out of a full heart to her absent sweetheart : 
Youth, I do adore thee: 
Oh my Love, my Love is young, 
then turning her head, she calls out to the old man, who 
is just taking his leave : 

Age, I do defy thee, 
and again calls out to her sweetheart. 
hrave is the antonym of 'M3are." 
Read the poem with much spirit, bringing out the con- 



NOTES 427 

trasts sharply. The last part should be read with force 
and fervor. 

10 

From ''As You Like It." A certain duke and his 
followers have been banished from court and are living 
in a forest. One of the company sings this song in 
praise of the life they are now leading. There is an 
implied contrast between the care-free existence in the 
country and the striving, ambitious life at court. 

Read gayly and buoyantly, expressing the joyous- 
ness of the singer. 

11 

From the same play. Two light-hearted pages sing 
this to a clown and his sweetheart, who are about to be 
married. The lyric touches upon the brevity of life, 
but the spirit is joyous. 

Read with an appreciation of the circumstances under 
which the song was first sung. Make it joyful, blithe, 
and airy. As the clown says after the pages have 
finished: ''Though there was no great matter in the 
ditty, yet the note was very initunable." 

12 

An extremely artificial poem. It gives one the im- 
pression that the poet is trying to be clever rather than 
sincere, that he is more interested in his rather affected 
manner of expression than in the matter to be expressed. 
It is "brain-poetry," as some one has said; not "heart- 
poetry." 

On account of the paradoxes and subtleties of expres- 
sion in the poem, the student will have to study the 
language closely. The general thought is suggested by 
the title. Such quality refers to "truest mettle" in the 



428 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

preceding stanza, affection's ground: an abiding place 
for love, close: secret. 

The metre is as intricate as the meaning. The varia- 
tion in verse length, the frequent double rhymes, the 
complicated rhyme-scheme — all, together with the fanci- 
ful nature of the subject matter, suggest that the read- 
ing should be characterized by lightness, almost flip- 
pancy. But care is required to bring out the subtleties 
of thought. 

13 

A beautiful sonnet but somewhat difficult to under- 
stand. The student must bear in mind that the poet is 
throughout addressing the actual highroad by which he 
is traveling to Stella, his mistress. He professes grati- 
tude to the road because it is his chief Parnassus (look 
up allusion) ; because his Muse, his source of poetic in- 
spiration, sings more often to the accompaniment of his 
horse 's feet on the road than to the sound of a ' ' chamber 
melody"; and because the road is bearing him to Stella. 
As a token of his gratitude, he wishes that the road may 
be maintained and honored, that it may not be en- 
croached upon, that no deed of violence may be done 
upon it, and that, as the highest possible bliss, it may 
be honored by Stella's walking upon it for ''hundreds 
of years." 

Notice the beautiful soft combinations of consonants 
and vowels and the alliteration and repetitions. Observe 
that many of the rhyme-words have the long-' ' e " sound 
— certainly a very musical vowel. 

Though the expression is somewhat exaggerated, the 
poem rings true. It should be read in such a way as to 
bring out all the grace and sincerity, the mingled fanci- 
fulness and earnestness that must have been in the poet's 
heart. 



NOTES 429 

14 

Addressed to his absent friend. The language may 
seem hyperbolic and insincere as spoken by one man to 
another. This is explained in part by the fact — for it 
seems established as a fact — that the person addressed 
in these sonnets was a young nobleman, and in part by 
the fact that this affected style was fashionable in those 
times and was usual in sonnets. A contemporary writer 
speaks of Shakespeare's "sugared sonnets." Perhaps a 
few of them are too sweet for modern taste; but the 
student must ignore this fine speaking and enjoy the 
wonderful workmanship and rare beauty of thought and 
sound. 

tnie: constant. In your ivill modifies ''do", in the 
next line. 

Study and read this according to the suggestions given 
under No. 5. 

15 

The same theme as in the preceding sonnet ; but as it 
is Shakespeare that has been absent this time, the im- 
agery is different. His absence has been during the 
summer and autumn, yet it has seemed more like bare 
winter, since he has been absent from his friend. 

hope of orphans: the fruit of autumn rouses the kind 
of feeling in the poet that arises in a mother as she looks 
forward to the birth of her fatherless son. near: 
nearness. 

Remember that you have failed to read a sonnet like 
this well if you do not read musically. To do this you 
must appreciate to the full the beauty of the rich images 
and the delightful tones and movements of the language. 
For example, murmur over and over the first line of 
the second quatrain, letting the ''m's" linger on the 



430 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

lips until the sounds have become as pleasant as a soft 
strain of music. 

16 

To his friend. One of the most beautiful of Shake- 
speare's sonnets. It is sincere and reflects a genuine and 
a universal feeling. Shakespeare, endowed with match- 
less gifts of emotion, thought, wisdom, and expression, 
here pictures himself in deep despondency, envying the 
prospects, the features, the popularity of some of his 
f4'iends, even coveting the artistic power and wide-em- 
bracing intellect of certain others. Then his mind falls 
upon his dearest friend, and the thought of his friend- 
ship lifts him from gloom to happiness. No better ex- 
pression of this theme can be found in literature. The 
sonnet just preceding this one in the series represents 
the poet at night, so perhaps we may conclude that this 
was conceived at night. This lends peculiar significance 
to the picture of the lark rising at break of day. 

Him, line 6, is a demonstrative, equivalent to "that 
person." 

Notice the dull, muffled sounds in the first two quat- 
rains — the thin, obscure vowels (''u", among others) 
and the heavy consonants; and observe how the words 
drag along — for example, in the third line of the first 
quatrain. All this suggests the gloom of the poet's 
mood. But observe that in the third quatrain and the 
couplet the melody has become bright and happy — long 
and broad vowels, rapid-running words, a feminine 
rhyme (rather rare in Shakespeare's sonnets) — in fact, 
all the vivacity and joyousness of a morning song. 

It is easy to perceive how the sonnet should be read, 
but to read it in such a way as to bring out all its beauty 
is difficult. It will require and reward much study and 
intelligent practice. The student must be sure, at least, 



NOTES 43]^ 

to read the first eight lines and the hist six lines in dif- 
ferent keys. 

17 

To his friend, on the same theme as No. 15. His friend 
has evidently accused him of having changed. 

qualify: modify, just to the time, etc.: punctual to 
the appointed time and not changed by absence. The 
couplet explains the word ''nothing" in the preceding 
line. ''Bringing water for his stain" apparently means 
that his returning on time and his being unchanged 
washes away the "stain" of absence. To call his friend 
a rose seems to us affected, but neither Shakespeare nor 
his friend apparently thought of the language as affected. 

Read with earnestness and sincerity. 

18 

Compare this sonnet with Nos. 5 and 6, which are on 
the same theme : the effect of time on beauty. 

steal from his figure: move stealthily away from its 
figure on the face of the clock." Shakespeare rarely 
uses "its", as the form was not then in common usage. 
age unbred: age unborn, future age. 

The music and imagery of this sonnet are in Shake- 
speare's best manner. In reading be sure to emphasize 
the word "three", which is repeated deliberately to ex- 
press more forcibly the length of time that has passed. 
Notice that in the third quatrain a new thought is 
introduced. The poet has been saying that his friend 
has not changed in three years, but now he fears that 
he may be deceived. Lest he may be, he records for 
future readers his conviction that his friend is more 
beautiful than any one else can ever be. Eead the first 
two quatrains confidently, read the next as if somewhat 
in doubt, read the couplet boldly. 



432 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

19 

Perhaps you will not care for the extravagance shown 
in this famous lyric. But it is a beautiful poem — grace- 
ful, musical, full of delicate fancies. The description 
of Rosaline is as pure as a Greek statue. The lines begin 
ning "Heigh ho" are full of beauty and emotion. They 
give the impression that the poet is so affected by the 
beauty of his mistress that he must interrupt his descrip- 
tion to utter this fervent ejaculation. The last line of 
the poem is surcharged with feeling. It falls upon the 
ear like a long-drawn sigh. 

The clear: clearness. Look up the word in a good 
dictionary. Since for a fair, etc. : if you speak of fairness, 
there is none fairer ; if you speak of virtue, none is so 
divinely virtuous. 

The chief characteristic of this poem, when read aloud, 
is the soft melod}^ The sounds are unusually musical: 
the vowels open and broad, the consonants smooth, and 
the combinations very pretty — in fact, there is not a 
discordant phrase in the poem. Read in such a way as 
to bring out this characteristic. Read in strict tempo, 
but lightly and smoothly. The voice should probably be 
a little raised. Read the verses beginning ''Heigh ho" 
much more slowly, and as if with a sigh. Pronounce 
' ' heigh ", " high ' ', in order to make the first vowel of the 
line the same as the last. 



21 

A fanciful little lyric. Observe that all the rhymes 
are feminine, that the rhyme-scheme is rather compli- 
cated, that the verses are of irregular length. 

"Love" is, of course, Cupid. The poet believes that 
Cupid willnot have won a true conqueror's glory until 



NOTES 



433 



he has subdued the poet's mistress. Line 6 means "De- 
liver me from grief and thyself from fear" — fear be- 
cause the poet feigns that his mistress may conquer 
Cupid. 
Kead rapidly and lightly. 



22 

The thought of this lyric is hard to grasp. It is a 
serenade, sung by the poet to his sleeping mistress. He 
weeps, perhaps because he has offended her; but he 
hopes for a reconciliation on the morrow. 

Foimtains, line 1 : his eyes, what: why. Sun is the 
subject of ''doth waste" and "mountains" is the object. 
My sun, line 5 : his mistress. The antecedent of "your," 
line 6, is " fountains " ; of " that ' ', line 7, is " sun ' ' in line 
5. In the second stanza, line 2, "rest" is the subject of 
"begets" and "peace" is its object. 

With a thorough understanding of the meaning, turn 
now to the reading. You will need to exercise care in 
emphasizing certain words, in order to express the 
thought. For example : "sun", line 5, is contrasted with 
"sun", line 4; "heavenly" is set off against "heaven". 
Practice the reading until you can express the thought, 
then turn your attention to the musical qualities. This 
is a serenade, but it has almost the music of a lullaby. 
Notice how prominent are the soft consonants: "s", "i", 
"ng". Kead the whole poem with the word "sleeping" 
in mind, and with the thought that this is a "song for 
music. ' ' 



23 

To his friend. The poet begins by asking if he should 
compare his friend to a summer day. He answers this 



434 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

in the first two quatrains. The third quatrain records 
the conviction of the poet that his friend's beauty shall 
not fade, but that it shall live in these sonnets. 

Vntrimmed is a participle modifying the first ''fair" 
in the preceding line; it is probably a nautical term, 
meaning stripped of sails, that fair thou owest, the 
fairness, the beauty, thou ownest. This, in the last line, 
refers to the sonnets in which Shakespeare is immortaliz- 
ing his friend. 

Read the first line as a question, the second line as a 
negative answer, and the rest of the first two quatrains 
as an explanation or elaboration of this answer. Em- 
phasize ''thy" and "eternal" at the beginning of the 
third quatrain, to contrast with the last line of the first 
quatrain. Read the couplet confidently. 

24 

When, in old stories and poems, the poet reads de- 
scriptions of lovely knights and dead ladies, he thinks 
that the old writers must have been trying to describe 
beauty like that of his friend. But since they looked 
but with prophetic eyes, they could not sing his real 
worth. As for himself and contemporary poets, they 
look upon his friend with tvondering eyes, but have not 
the skill of the old masters to sing his praise. 

Go through the poem line by line, noting the assonance 
and alliteration and the striking phrases. Follow the 
suggestions previously given for reading Shakespeare's 
sonnets. Be sure to emphasize "we" in the last line, to 
contrast with "they" in the preceding line. 

25 

Basia: kisses. This is one of the capricious lyrics so 
popular in Elizabethan times. It aims to be clear in 



NOTES 435 

phrasing, artistically irregular in line length and in 
rhyme-scheme, and musical in expression. The feminine 
rhymes and the short, ''run-on" lines produce a gay, 
dancing movement, in close keeping with the half-playful 
mood of the poet. 

Notice how ingeniously the figure of harvesting is car- 
ried throughout the second stanza. 

26 

Direct and straightforward, but not altogether serious. 
The poem has a definite outline. The first two lines 
form the introduction, the last two lines the conclusion. 
The first stanza discusses jealousy, the second apparent 
inconstancy, the third attention to business affairs. 

Read in a rather formal, matter-of-fact manner, but 
with just a suspicion of humor in a line or two — for 
example, in the line ''And not ever sit and talk." 

27 

A sort of allegory. "Love" is an amorous young 
man; the blossom, a beautiful young lady. Dumaine, 
who sings this song in "Love's Labours Lost," has sworn 
not to love for three years ; but the beauty of Katherine 
compels him to forswear himself. 

A dainty little poem, but perhaps over-sentimental. 
The short lines and trochaic movement suggest spright- 
liness, but this must be somewhat restrained by the 
sentimentality of the language. 

28 

Rather labored and somewhat artificial, though still 
earnest and sincere. It is addressed to the poet's ob- 
durate mistress. 

Great assays, in the third stanza, refers to the poet's 



436 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

great deeds to win his mistress' love. The next line re- 
fers to her attitude, and the next to his patience. Mind, 
in 'the fourth stanza, seems to mean "devotion." In 
the fifth stanza, fJiinc own approved means the poet 
himself, since he has proved himself to be hers. 

Be sure that you comprehend the meaning of all the 
phrases, then read in an earnest, serious, rather stately 
manner, stressing the last verse of each stanza. You 
will perhaps have some difficulty in getting variety into 
the reading; probably the poet intended it to be all in 
the one key. 

29 

This sonnet is somewhat in the manner of Shakespeare, 
but it lacks his consummate beauty of phrase and melody. 
It should be read with dignity and thoughtfulness. 

prejudge thy hJiss: spoil thy bliss by false, premature 
judgment, world of loving wonders: a great number of 
miracles of love, referring to the half paradoxical state- 
ments that follow. 

30 

Another poem that reveals thought more than feeling. 
It is, however, both ingenious and musical. 

The first two stanzas praise the beauty of the lady 
weeping ; the last stanza urges the lady to cease grieving, 
since her beauty in joy is greater than her beauty in 
tears. 

leep, line 3 of St. 1 : abide, parfs.- qualities, passion, 
St. 2 : suffering, leave off in time to grieve: cease grieving 
soon, or before it is too late. 

When you read, be sure you show that the third stanza 
expresses a different thought from that in the other two. 
It is addressed directly to the lady, and should be read 
with a touch of pleading. Emphasize the word ' ' joyful. ' ' 



NOTES 437 

Make the most of such musical lines as ''She made her 
sighs to sing.'* 

31 

A noble expression of truth, made beautiful and strik- 
ing with Shakespeare's highest art. Each quatrain 
completes one phase of the thought and the couplet con- 
cludes and emphasizes. 

Shakespeare probably uses the word impediment be- 
cause the marriage ceremony contains the phrase ''cause 
or just impediment" why the contracting parties should 
not marry, hends with the remover to remove: suffers 
motion, or change, when some change takes place in the 
loved person. Ever-fixed mark is apparently some great 
cliff along the sea, which serves as a landmark for vessels. 
The antecedent of whose, in line 8, is "star." The line 
seems to mean: "whose astrological influence is not 
known, although his (that is, "its") astronomical height 
has been calculated." The antecedent of his, in line 11, 
is "Time." 

Shakespeare's fondness for contrasts and antitheses 
makes his sonnets difficult reading, but gives force when 
the reading is good. Practice reading lines 3 and 4 until 
you can satisfy yourself that you have expressed the 
meaning intelligently. Read with intense earnestness. 

32 

This lyric is just what the title implies : a brief, simple, 
melodious song. One might call it a poet's valentine. 
Though fanciful, it is nevertheless sincere and graceful. 

Read in a joyful, direct manner, bringing out the 
contrasts and stressing the "key-line", "My true-love 
hath my heart and I have his." The poem, when well 
read, has a pretty melody. 



438 '^HE COLDEN TREASURY 

33 

Again, as often, the title gives iis the clue to the inter- 
pretation. The poem is a simple, almost naive expression 
of a universal sentiment. It is graceful and delicate in 
thought and form. Read simply and naturally, expres- 
sing all the quaint music that is in the irregular move- 
ment and pretty sounds. 

wonder: probably, admiration. 

34 

A perfect sonnet in plan. Each part is so distinct 
that it can be detached from the poem, yet each develops 
the main theme. It is impossible not to feel that the 
poet was writing from his heart — the language is candid 
and genuine and expresses firm devotion. The only word 
one could wish changed is ''swain", line 3, and that is 
out of place now only because the fashion in words 
has changed, hase, line 1 : low. It is the antonym of 
''high", with no suggestion of moral baseness. 

Read the poem silently until you have been impressed 
with the spirit of true devotion, then read it aloud. Read 
with firm, full tones, making your voice as musical as 
possible. The couplet sums up the thought: see that 
you make that clear in your reading. 

35 

Carpe Diem, "Seize the Day." It is a clown's song 
in "Twelfth Night," sung to two jolly tipplers who 
demand a love-song. This is one of the songs in gayer 
mood that Shakespeare wrote to entertain the audiences 
that flocked to hear his plays. Read it lightly and 
hvighily. 

Stveet-and-twenty : a vocative, meaning sweet maid of 
twenty years. 



NOTES 439 

36 

The song of a peddler. In Shakespeare's "The Win- 
ter's Tale" one of the characters is Autolycus, a thieving 
rogue, who at one time plays the part of a peddler and 
swindles the country folk. The title of this poem, then, 
is intended to convey the meaning that this peddler is 
an honest one, in contrast to Autolycus. His language 
is rather ambiguous: the reader hardly knows whether 
he is using the language of a peddler to make love or 
using the language of love to sell his wares. 

good pennyworths: good bargains; but, as the peddler 
says, money cannot buy them: he keeps his wares but 
for the ladies to view. Possibly the inference is that he 
gives them away. look for gifts again: expect gifts in 
return, orient'st: purest. 

In reading be sure to bring out the contrasts : ' ' wares ' ' 
and "heart;" "trash" and "true" in line 5 of St. 1; 
"great gifts" in line 1 of St. 2, and "trifles" in line 2; 
etc. Notice the frequent alliteration. 

The line, "It is a precious jewel to be plain" would 
be a good motto to adopt in your reading of this poem. 
Read it simply, with just a hint in the first line or two 
that you are calling out wares. 

37 

This poem is a series of winter pictures, of vivid, 
realistic pictures. It is from "Love's Labours Lost," 
where it is opposed to a poem containing a series of 
summer pictures. 

doth heel the pot: cools the pot, perhaps cools a pot of 
cooking pottage by stirring it. saiv: sayings, sermon. 
crahs: crab apples. 

Let your mind fill in the details of the pictures. Be 
able to see Dick blowing on his hands to keep them 



440 THE CJOLDEN TREASURY 

warm, while he is driving his sheep home. Have you 
ever been in a country church in winter when everyone 
has a cold and ''coughing drowns the parson's saw"? 

After you have visualized the pictures, read the poem 
naturally, pausing a little after each detail and endeavor- 
ing to express the ideas vividly but simply. Do not try 
to imitate the owl's cry, try merely to suggest it. 

38 

An apt title for this would be: ''The sear and yellow 
leaf." (See Macbeth, V, 3, 23.) The three quatrains 
present three beautiful, clear pictures, painted with un- 
usually picturesque phrases. The couplet summarizes 
the thought and draws a sort of conclusion. 

Choirs is here used as the place where the bird-chorus 
has been singing, hy and hy: immediately, liis, line 10: 
its. leave: take leave of. 

This is one of the poems that should be repeated over 
and over. It is one of the most graphic and melodious 
of Shakespeare 's sonnets. Get the pictures clearly before 
your eye and let the music reach your ear, then read 
earnestly and clearly. 

39 

This sonnet contains a number of legal and commercial 
phrases, which are here transmuted into the gold of 
poetry. It is noted for its beautiful phrases: "sessions 
of sweet, silent thought," "death's dateless night," 
"love's long:since-cancelled woe." It has a good deal 
of alliteration and several contrasts. The first three 
quatrains have a heavy, sombre music, which changes to 
a glad melody in the couplet. 

Your reading should bring out the emphatic words 
and contrasts, and express the deep, heart-felt emotion 



NOTES 441 

of the poet. Shakespeare doubtless had in mind some 
''precious friends hid in death's dateless night." As we 
read his poem, we should let our memories run back to 
our dead friends and pay a tribute to them "as if not 
paid before." Whenever we can translate poetry into 
terms of our own experience, we shall be able to experi- 
ence the emotion and should be able to read with more 
expression and sincerity. 

40 

The Elizabethans had a good deal to say in praise of 
sleep — perhaps, as some one has suggested, their strenu- 
ous, nervous life made them poor sleepers. 

The first quatrain contains a number of metaphors for 
sleep, knot of peace — Shakespeare in ''Macbeth," II, 2, 
37, speaks of sleep that "knits up the raveled sleave of 
care." "Sleave" means a coarse, soft silk; and the 
passage seems to suggest that sleep and rest knits up the 
sleave of care which has been unraveled during the day. 
Probably Sidney means about the same thing in this pas- 
sage. C. f. "bond of peace," Eph. 3 :4. halting -place of 
ivit: the place of refreshment for the mind, indifferent: 
impartial. In the next quatrain the poet calls upon sleep 
to shield him from despair — that is, come to him, so 
that he may sleep and forget. The poet promises fo 
pay good tribute to Sleep if he will do this, shield of 
proof: shield that has been proved, strong shield.' prease; 
press, crowd, civil tears, because the poet is suffering 
"internal conflicts." The first three lines of the next 
quatrain enumerate the gifts that are to be given Sleep 
as tribute — all of them being gifts that are appropriate 
to sleep, rosy garland: garland of roses, the rose being 
the flower of silence. C. f. Latin siih rosa. The last three 
lines of the poem make up the final thought. The poet 



442 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

says that if the gifts just mentioned will not persuade 
Sleep to eonie — since in reality they all belong to Sleep by 
right, he will as a favor permit him to see in the poet's 
dreams a better picture of Stella than he can find else- 
where, heavy grace — it is almost as if Sleep were ad- 
dressed as "Your Grace," the adjective "heavy" being 
prefixed as descriptive. Perhaps it means "your slow, 
reluctant favor. ' ' 

The chief literary qualities in this poem are the in- 
genuity of the figurative language, the picturesqueness 
of the phrases, and the melody. Keep in mind, as you 
read, that the poet is addressing Sleep as a real person, 
giving him the attributes and qualities that would be- 
long to him. After you see the meaning of the phrases 
and the different parts of the outline, read naturally — 
"naturally," in this instance, meaning "earnestl3^" In 
your reading set apart by pauses the different metaphors 
in the first quatrain and the gifts in the third quatrain. 
Read the last three lines rather more rapidly, letting the 
voice rise gradually to the last three Avords, then fall 
abruptly. 

41 

Three quatrains in which the changes of time are 
described in three figures, then a couplet in which the 
poet states an opposing thought : that his verses in praise 
of his friend shall resist time. 

The second quatrain is difficult. It compares man to 
a star which, starting in the full radiance of heaven, 
reaches a brief climax, then is eclipsed by opposing stars. 
confound: ruin, delves the parallels in beauty's brow: 
makes furrows in the forehead. (One may see in this 
paraphrase how inferior any language is to the poet's.) 
nature's truth: the genuine creations of nature, times in 
hope: time to come. 



NOTES 443 

After you have mastered these difficulties, you will see 
that the poem is both beautiful and true. Read natur- 
ally, paying due attention to the pauses and to the rise 
and fall of the movements. Show by your reading that 
the couplet is opposed to the preceding part of the poem ; 
to do this emphasize ''and yet" and "my verse." The 
poet has stated that "nothing stands;" now he says '^nuj 
verse shall stand." Bring out contrasts of this sort: it 
is one of the principles of intelligent reading. 

42 

Another sonnet in which Shakespeare expresses his 
thought by means of a figure drawn from legal procedure. 
It may be paraphrased thus: ''You gave me a charter 
of affection ; but since the property conveyed has proved 
to be too valuable and since it was granted by you on 
an error ("upon misprision growing"), it reverts to 
you." 

The figure is ingeniously carried out dovv^n to the 
couplet: that is out of keeping. The sonnet lacks the 
sincerity of Shakespeare's best work, and the feminine 
rhymes detract from the dignity that one usually finds 
in his sonnets. 

In your reading concentrate upon making the thought 
clear and the expression musical. The feminine rhymes 
are certainly very pretty in sound. 

43 

The thought of the first two quatrains is clear : Those 
that repress their passions are blessed of heaven. The 
first two lines of the third quatrain seem to mean that 
even though such persons are selfish in not giving them- 
selves more freely, yet their good qualities do never- 
theless bless the world. The flower is here taken as the 



444 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

emblem of those that move others but are themselves 
not moved. The last four lines add the thought that if 
such persons become base, they are doubly hateful. 

This sonnet lacks the close unity, the happy phrasing, 
and the beauty of sound which are associated with 
Shakespeare's best work. 

shoiv: appear. 

Follow directions already given for reading Shake- 
speare's sonnets. 

44 
This lyric, though perhaps it may not appeal as 
strongly as some of the others, has nevertheless an affect- 
ing simplicity and earnestness. The use of the refrain 
is very skilful. Notice how many monosyllables are 
used and how simple is the phrasing. Notice, too, the 
short lines, suggesting simplicity and directness. Read 
with sincerity and with vigor. 

45 

The nightingale's plaintive notes have been the theme 
of much poetry. If you do not know the myth of 
Philomela, the nightingale, consult an encyclopedia. 
Pandion was Philomela's father. The poet is the more 
affected by her song because he also is sad. 

Only the first part of the original has been reprinted 
by Palgrave. 

It is a pretty poem, but it does not betray deep feel- 
ing. Read rhythmically and somewhat rapidly. 

46 
A heavy, mournful ''night-piece". It has a certain 
sullen note that exactly fits the solemnity of thought. 
Notice the frequent alliteration: of ''s" in the first line, 



NOTES 445 

^^b" and ^^d" in the second, "1" and '^re" in the third, 
etc. 

Restore the light: i. e., by bringing the peaceful forget- 
fulness of sleep. The fourth line of the first quatrain is 
obscure. ''Return" is an imperative, as "relieve" and 
''restore" in the preceding line. The sentence would 
then mean: "Return and bring with you forgetfulness 
of my care, passions: sufferings, approve: prove. The 
antecedent of you, in the same line, is "dreams." 

How accurate is the phrase "the images of day- 
desires," to describe dreams! 

Study the poem until you feel the gloom and weariness 
of the poet, then read slowly and in a solemn tone. 

47 

Same theme as No. 45. In that poem the nightingale 
is the theme, in this the poet is the theme, the nightingale 
being used only as introduction and analogy. In No. 45 
the emotion is faint; in this it is keen. In No. 45 the 
expression is simple; in this it is more elaborate and 
more musical. 

The first stanza mentions only the nightingale. 
springeth: comes forth into spring, a thorn her song- 
hook staking: making a thorn (i. e., a grief, a wound) 
the theme of her song. The refrain-stanza is addressed 
directly to the bird; it institutes the contrast between 
the nightingale, Philomela, and the poet. Here, line 2 : 
in my bosom, thy thorn without, etc. : thy grief is ex- 
ternal and superficial, mine is internal and deep. In 
the second stanza the first four lines are descriptive of 
the nightingale, the last four of the poet, cannot have 
to content me: cannot have the means to content myself. 

The rhyme-sounds are extremely beautiful. Notice 
that the rhymes are all feminine and that the last 



446 'i'H^ DOLDEN TREASURY 

syllable is very soft and musical — ''eth*' and "ing" 
predominating. You will discover, however, that some 
of the words are difficult to pronounce. 

In reading strive especially to bring out clearly the 
contrast between. Philomela and the poet and to give ade- 
quate expression to the music of the lyric — which is a 
delightful melody in a minor key. The poem is worth 
reading aloud many times. 

48 

From ''Measure for IMeasure." It is sung to IMariana, 
who has been deserted by her lover. As she says, it is 
sung to "please her woe." The song represents the 
lady as appealing to her lover. His eyes are called the 
''break of day" because they are bright; but it is a false 
dawn, since it is not followed by the day — that is, by 
happiness, love. 

Notice the alliteration and the repetition. Read softly 
and musically, trying to express the pathos of the theme. 
The repetitions have here a sad, solemn note ; as Shake- 
speare himself says of a strain of music, they have a 
"dying fall." 

49 

The first two quatrains state one thought, the third 
quatrain and the couplet an opposing thought. The 
figure in the last six verses, of Love dying and Faith 
and Innocence performing the last sad rites is pretty 
and touching. 

cleanly: completely, latest: last, recover: restore. 

It is a strong, sincere expression of emotion. Notice 
how many short, simple words are used in the first eight 
lines, and how direct and literal is the language. Read 
that part of the sonnet in a simple, firm, emphatic, some- 
what conversational manner. Notice that the words in 



NOTES 447 

the last six lines are longer and that the language is 
figurative. Read these verses more slowly, more music- 
ally, and with more tenderness. This sonnet has been 
called a "wonderful sob of supplication." This applies, 
of course, more closely to the last six lines, but the 
contrast between the first part of the poem and the last 
makes the supplicating note more appealing. Be sure 
to stress "thou" in the last line, to make the contrast 
with "all" in the preceding line. 

50 

The -title means "jMan walketh in a vain show:" 
Psalms 39, 6. The poem is a sort of allegory. The sun 
is a beautiful noble lady, the shadow is a lowly and de- 
spised suitor; it is to him that the poet speaks. The 
figure is, for the most part, ingeniously sustained. 

proved: approved. 

The lyric has the charm that always accompanies 
beauty half concealed; it is more attractive because of 
the fact that the literal meaning eludes the reader, while 
the figure itself is beautiful and suggestive. The allitera- 
tion, the assonance, and the repetitions given additional 
charm. The long lines enclosing the shorter ones, the 
long lines ending in feminine rhymes and the short ones 
in masculine rhymes — this form is unusual and effective. 
The first two stanzas are particularly fine. 

The poem is difficult to read. The allegorical signifi- 
cance should be kept in mind, to give point to the literal 
language. Perhaps the reading is more effective if the 
first line of each stanza is read in a distinct, somewhat 
commanding voice, then the next line in a lower tone, 
which gradually rises to the middle of the last line, then 
abruptly falls. This plan fits almost every stanza and 
it seems to be the natural way in which to read. But 



448 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

do not allow yourself to be forced into any plan that 
does not seem fitting. 

51 

Addressed to the mysterious "dark lady", who, if we 
may trust the evident meaning of the sonnets, exercised 
an unholy fascination upon the poet. The lady is either 
not beautiful or she is not good; but the poet's love has 
blinded him so that he does not perceive her true ap- 
pearance or nature. 

correspondence with: similarity to. censure: judge. 
denote: show, watching: waking. 

Read the first two quatrains in such a manner as to 
express the poet's doubt whether Ms eyes, or ''all men's" 
judge correctly. Read the last word of the second 
quatrain and all the third emphatically, since the poet 
has now decided that his own eyes are deceived. There 
is more emotion and more certainty in this quatrain. 
Voice the ''No", the last word of the second quatrain, 
strongly. Its position shows it is emphatic. The couplet 
is an accusation against either Love or his mistress; in 
either case read it with a touch of bitterness. 

52 

The thought is easy to grasp and the emotion easy 
to express. Read it softly, as if fearful of awakening the 
sleeper; read it slowly and reflectively. Make a dis- 
tinct pause after the first stanza. The lyric has a smooth, 
subdued music that precisely suits the sentiment. 

53 

There is a certain admirable simplicity and direct- 
ness in this poem. This quality, the careless but ac- 
curate tripping of the feet, and the half-lamenting, half- 



NOTES 449 

contemptuous language make the lyric very unusual. 
The refrain, with its rhymes and repetitions and its 
graceful amphibrachs, is exceedingly beautiful. 

late forgot: forgotten of late. The poet doubtless 
means this for an uncomplimentary reference to him- 
self, passing: surpassingly. 

In reading express all the sincerity and emotion of 
the deserted shepherd. Some lines are scornful. Read 
the refrain almost as if you were singing it. 

54 

Age speaking to a young lover. The old man pro- 
fesses to have experienced love and now tries to dis- 
suade his young friend from loving. 

self -proof: your own experience, lovers martyr, etc.: 
he who sacrifices himself to love, confesses grief, as soon 
as the love has cooled. Look up the reference to 
Cassandra. 

Notice that the second and third stanzas are closely 
connected. 

Read in a direct, somewhat dry manner, as of an old 
man giving advice. In the third line of the first stanza 
make an abrupt pause after ^'stars'', to render the next 
thought more forcible. The first two lines of the second 
stanza are scornful; but in the next two the old man 
grows almost sentimental — perhaps as he thinks of some 
experience of his own. 

55 

The poet pretends to scorn his mistress and to confess 
that he does not want her love ; but, as the last two lines 
show, he is trying by scorn to beguile her into affection. 
The poem is ingenious and spirited, and the surprise in 
the last two stanzas is of the nature of true wit. 



450 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

mere delight: nothing but delight, more divine: more 
divine than it is. woman right: a true woman. 

Read with spirit, scorn, and firmness until you come 
to the last two lines. Now make a complete pause, then 
in a lower tone and with a smile, read the remainder. 



56 

Another song from ^'As You Like It." See note to 
No. 10. The winter wind and the bitter weather that 
the exiles in the forest have to endure are preferable 
to ingratitude. The sentiment is cynical, but the jollity 
of the refrain shows that the cynicism is only skin-deep. 

Read the first six lines of each stanza in a direct, 
energetic manner. Read the refrain more rapidly, more 
joyfully. 

57 

A betrayed and deserted mother singing to her child. 
The simplicity and artlessness is wonderfully fine. 

St. 1, silly: simple, doubt: fear, chief: chiefly. 
St. 3, what can I more: what more can I do to sooth you. 
Lines 3 and 4 are obscure. Perhaps they mean: ''If 
any one scorn your, misfortune, it may propitiate the 
fates to know that it was I that sinned." St. 7, rascal: 
This word formerly meant an animal whose flesh was so 
poor that he was not worth hunting. The next line 
shows that ' ' rascal ' ' has here something of the old mean- 
ing. St. 8, God bless my babe, etc. : God save my babe 
from inheriting his father's disposition. 

The general tone is simple melancholy, yet there are 
flashes of pride and of other emotions, and throughout 
there is a sincere love and tenderness for the baby. In 
reading keep in mind the spirit of the whole composi- 
tion, and read each stanza with its appropriate emotion. 



NOTES 451 

58 

Somewhat fanciful but exceedingly beautiful. The 
lover fancies that he sees in the slow movement of the 
moon, its wan face, and '^ languished grace", a resem- 
blance to himself, so concludes that the moon must be 
in love. 

of fellowship: because of fellowship — because we are 
in the same situation, tlicre, 11. 11 and 14: in heavenly 
places. That, 1. 13, is used merely to strengthen 
"whom." Do they call, etc.: in heavenly places do they 
call ungratefulness a virtue? 

Observe the slow, heavy movement and the rich 
sounds of the first line. Picture the disappointed lover 
gazing up at the moon and comparing his state with its 
state — somewhat fancifully, as befits a lover, but with 
true emotion. There is a trace of bitterness in some of 
the lines. Graceful, reflective melancholy marks this 
poem, as simple, unadorned melancholy marks the previ- 
ous one. Read with all this in mind. 

59 

Cruclclis Amor, ''0 Cruel Love." This lyric, like 
No. 52 by the same author, is almost like a sonnet in 
restraint and unity of thought and expression. It has, 
too, an admirable dignity and solemnity. The picture 
in the "shades of underground" is of the Greek Hades. 
Notice the assonance of "thou" and "ground", in the 
first line; of "arrived" and "admired", in the second; 
of "white", "lope", and "blithe", in the fourth; of 
"smooth", "music", "move", in the sixth. Notice also 
the skilful alliteration. 

Read slowly and distinctly, with dignity and repres- 
sion, with a sombre note in the voice. Express the 
somewhat bitter emotion in the last line. 



452 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

60 

On the same theme as No. 57, except that in this the 
father seems to have been compelled to leave the mother 
and babe rather than to have deserted them. 

wanton wag: lively, playful child, a term of endear- 
ment. St. 2, hij course: in turn, one after another. 

The long lines at the beginning of each stanza seem 
to be spoken reflectively. The short lines are addressed 
to the child. In their strict tempo, brevity of line and 
phrase, simplicity, and literalness, they suggest the 
nursery rhyme — suggest, no more than suggest. Read 
the long lines slowly, the short lines rapidly but seri- 
ously. The last two lines of the poem should be read 
softly and tenderly, as if the mother has now sung her 
babe to sleep. 

61 

The poet, mourning for a dead friend, calls for death ; 
but that ''grim grinning king", having taken the rose, 
his friend, disdains to crop him, a weed. The capricious 
rhyme-scheme and the uneven length of line, together 
with the brevity of the poem, suggest a spontaneous out- 
burst of grief. Notice how prominent are the explosive 
consonants: ''p", ''d", ''t", ''c" C'k"). 

and with lamenting cries, etc.: often, with lamenting 
cries, I call Death to bring peace to my mind, grim: 
almost an adverb, ''grimly", modif3dng "grinning." 

In your reading give the impression of violent, un- 
controlled grief. Enunciate vigorously the explosive 
sounds. Let the voice rise gradually in the last three 
lines up to the middle of the last line, then fall suddenly 
and sadly. 

62 

From ' ' Twelfth Night ' ', where it is sung to the melan- 
choly, sentimental duke. The duke says: ''It is silly 



NOTES 453 

and dallies with the innocence of love." It is pretty 
and graceful, though it has a touch of sentimentality — ■ 
which Shakespeare certainly intended. When set to ap- 
propriate music, it is an effective song. 

cypres: a kind of cloth, here to be used for a shroud. 

The rhythm is capricious. Do not attempt to read in 
measured accent, but stress the important words regard- 
less of musical beat. After you have read it thus a few 
times, you will see that the movement, though irregular, 
is quaint and beautiful. 

63 

The poet's mistress being dead, he commands his lute, 
whose music had formerly pleased her, to be as silent as 
it was before its wood was made into a lute. The thought 
is fanciful but the poem is graceful in sentiment and 
artistic in melody. 

immelodious: either ' ' immelodious " or *' noiseless." 
to tune those spheres: a reference to the old fancy that 
the heavenly spheres made harmonious music as they 
turned, each stroke a sigh: each stroke drawls forth a 
sigh. ^^ir^Ze.- turtle-dove. 

It is natural that the sound of the instrument which 
has pleased his dead mistress should be displeasing to 
him and that he should resolve to play it no more. That 
thought is the basis of the poem. Notice how soft and 
melodious the sounds are: the long-''o" and the sound 
of ''o" in ''move", both within the lines and in the 
rhyme-words; and the softer consonants, such as: ''m", 
*'s", ''r", ''v", "w". Make your voice reproduce all 
the melody in this melodious lyric. 

64 
From ' ' Cymbeline. " Sung over the grave of Fidele 
by her foster-brothers. One of the most beautiful dirges 



454 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

ever written. It is simple, as befits the theme and the 
singers, yet it expresses one of the fundamental truths 
and emotions of life. 

golden: a very expressive epithet, meaning "bright", 
''rich", "fortunate", and much more. Physic: repre- 
sents the medical profession, as "scepter" represents 
"ruler." consign to thee: come to thy condition. 

Read with simplicity, dignity, and pathos. Do not 
"mouth" this lyric. 

65 

From "The Tempest", following No. 5. (See notes 
on No. 5.) Sung by the fairies to Ferdinand, whose 
father is supposed to have been drowned. 

Eead simply and solemnly. Let your reading of the 
last line suggest the tolling of a bell. 

66 

A funeral song from "The White Devil." It is sung 
as women are wrapping the dead body in the shroud. 
gay tomhs: in contrast to the "hillocks." 
Read slowly and very simply. Put much energy into 
the last two lines. 

67 

The poet, in sombre mood, anticipates his death and 
writes his own epitaph. There is much natural pathos 
in this sonnet. 

l)y fortune: by chance. The pathos of this phrase is 
intensified when we remember that Shakespeare did not 
print his sonnets at first, but gave them to his friends 
in manuscript. His friend might be expected, then, to 
read the sonnets often. The "by chance" shows in what 
a melancholy mood the poet is. 

Read with simplicity, in a minor key. 



NOTES 455 

68 

On the same theme as the preceding, but expressing 
the opposite wish. It is superior to the other in emo- 
tional power, in phrasal power, and in musical power. 
Note the phrase, ''surly, sullen bell"— how suggestive 
the sounds are of the tolling of a bell. 

Read with deep sincerity, trying to express the love 
the poet felt — a love so great that he asks to be for- 
gotten that his friend may be happier. 

69 

From ''The ]\Ierchant of Venice." In the play the 
song has especial significance because it gives Bassanio 
a clue as to the right casket to choose. The chief thought 
is that Fancy (i. e.. Young Love) is nourished by seeing, 
and therefore soon dies. 

Read lightly and musically. 

70 

This song gives an excellent example of the fanciful 
conception that is called a "conceit." It is, however, 
very ingenious and musical. One can forgive the ex- 
aggerated language for the sake of the delicacy and 
grace of expression. Notice the alliteration, the as- 
sonance, the musical feminine rhymes. It will aid in 
getting the rhythm to observe that the first four lines 
have each five feet, while the last two have each six. 
The last line scans: 
Wheth'-er the ros'-es be your lips' or' your lips' the 

ros'-es 

Read lightly and rhythmically. 

71 
Fanciful and somewhat too sentimental for modern 
taste. "Love" is, of course, the little winged Cupid. 



456 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

ivhist: be silent. Notice that the third stanza is con- 
nected closely with the second — ''Be silent, else I will 
whip you." Notice that the last line of the last stanza 
rhymes with the last line of the third. 

The lyric has lively fancy and a gay, light music. Read 
it lightly and rapidly, as if half in jest and half in 
earnest. Enjoy the brightness and liveliness and let 
your reading reveal your enjoyment. 

72 

Another conceit. Sung by Apelles, in ''Campaspe." 
He is in love with Campaspe. 

His mother's doves: Venus' car was drawn by doves. 
set: wagered. 

For reading, follow the suggestions concerning the 
preceding poem. Put animation into the last two lines. 

73 

A fresh, spirited, out-of-door song. Notice the pleas- 
ant internal rhyme in the alternate lines, the rapid 
flowing rhythm, the repetitions of lines, and the fre- 
quency of the '' orrow "-sound. Alliteration and asso- 
nance are also prominent. 

stare: starling. 

Eead gayly and joyfully. This is a morning song. 
Catch the freshness and breeziness of the day and the 
poet's joyful expectation of his mistress, and let your 
voice express it. 

74 

Prothalamion : "A marriage song." Spenser wrote it 
in honor of two noble ladies, Somerset by name, here 
spoken of as two swans. 



NOTES 457 

Observe how intricate the form of the stanza is. The 
normal rhyme-scheme is abbaa, cdcdd, eefeff, gg. But 
Spenser varies this sometimes, carrying one rhyme-sound 
for several lines, as "ay" in the first stanza and ''e" 
in the third ; and in some stanzas he uses the same or a 
similar vowel sound in several rhyme-words, though the 
words themselves do not rhyme, as "o" and ''ou" in 
the first part of the 7th stanza and ' ' e " in the last part. 
Observe also that all the lines are iambic pentameter 
except the fifth, tenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth, which 
are iambic trimeter. Observe further the refrain. The 
last line is invariable, but the next to the last is slightly 
modified to fit in well with the preceding idea. All told, 
it is a complex metrical plan ; and when we reflect that 
this is carried out so consistently and artistically through 
ten eighteen-line stanzas, we get some conception of 
Spenser's ''acomplishment of verse." 

The sounds are extremely melodious. Notice that the 
rhyme words contain broad, open vowels, rarely short, 
flat ones. Notice how prominent are the smooth, liquid 



<£„ J J 



s representing ''z", as well as smooth combinations of 
consonant sounds. Notice the frequent alliteration, 
which sometimes extends over from one line to the 
next, as ''f" in St. 2, lines 8 and 9. Notice the un- 
usually pretty assonances, as in the first line of St. 1, 
day", and ''air," and in the last 
Thames" and ''end." Soft, 
melodious sounds, then, and melodious combinations of 
sounds are striking characteristics of this poem. 

The movement is, in general, graceful and majestic. 
The pauses are skilfully varied. The phrase does not 
usually coincide with the line, but runs on into the sue- 



458 '^HE GOLDEN TREASURY 

ceeding line, sometimes stopping within the line. The 
fifth and tenth lines often mark the end of a sentence 
or clause. 

The language is intentionally archaic. St. 1, delay: 
allay, assuage. St. 2, grccnisli: sea-colored. St. 3, seemed 
foul to them: seemed foul compared to their whiteness. 
St. 4, hi^ed of summer's heat: a punning allusion to the 
ladies' name, Somerset, that her undersong: her refrain. 
St. 9, a nohle peer: the Earl of Essex, who had lately 
captured Cadiz, near w^hich are the Pillars of Hercules. 
Thine oivn name, etc.: The Earl's name was Devereux, 
which, the poet thinks, comes from the words "ever" 
and "heureux," a French word meaning ''happy" or 
"fortunate." Elisa: Queen Elizabeth. St. 10, Twins of 
Jove: Castor and Pollux. Look up all the unfamiliar 
words and the classical allusions. 

To read Spenser well requires much intelligent prac- 
tice. In fact, one recites Spenser, rather than reads 
him. ]\Iany of the sentences are so long that they cannot 
possibly be read in one breath. Students sometimes 
spoil their reading of Spenser by reading until they 
are out of breath, then halting perforce at the wrong 
place. Avoid that. Read in a voice more sonorous and 
perhaps a little higher than your natural voice. Read 
the last line of each stanza slowly and melodiously. 
Most of the short lines should be read very slowly, 
especially such lines as (St. 7) "Making his stream run 
slow." In nearly every stanza it is almost as if the 
movement swells along proudly and pompously until it 
reaches these short lines, then slows down for a moment, 
to begin again in the next verse. Emphasize the noble 
movement, but do not neglect the soft musical phrases. 
Linger over them and bring them out clearly and music- 



NOTES 459 

ally. Remember that the primary characteristic of this 
poem is the melody of movement and sound. 

75 

A lively lyric on a pleasant theme. The intricate 
rhyme-scheme, the variation in rhythm and length of 
line, the repetitions and alliterations, the lively refrain, 
all call for spirited, yet careful reading. Emphasize 
the important words regardless of rhythm ; you will find 
that the rhythm takes care of itself. Scan the next to 
the last line : 

Hon'-est la'-bour bears a love'-ly face'. 

76 

Sic Transit, ''Thus it Passes." A night song, serious 
and melancholy. The poet wishes for day, though he 
realizes that each new day consumes a part of his life. 
In the second stanza he regrets that night deprives him 
of time in which to live. 

part of my life, St. 2, line 5, is addressed to day — 
See line 1 of St. 1. 

Read gravely and heavily. Make music out of the 
refrain line. 

77 
An artistic little lyric. The comparison of life to a 
bubble is well carried out. Notice how the irregularity 
of the first few lines suggests the play of the children. 
Notice the contemptuous effect of the ''b's" and ''p's" 
in line 2 and 3, and the suggestive spondee in line 7 : 
''fixed there." Notice the repetition of the "ou "-sound 
in the last two lines. The "t's" in the last line give the 
suggestion of scorn. 



460 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

78 

The poet addresses his soul. He accuses it of taking 
too much thought for the body and advises the soul to 
feed itself. In ''Love's Labours Lost" is a line that 
expresses the thought of this sonnet : ' ' The mind shall 
banquet, though the body pine." Notice the legal and 
commercial phrases. Observe the synonyms for the body : 
' ' sinful earth, " ' ' rebel powers, " ' ' outward walls, " ' ' fad- 
ing mansion," ''thy charge," ''thy servant." 

foiled hy — these words have been substituted for the 
senseless words in the original, a typographical error. 
array: means both adorn, and beset, probably a sort of 
pun. this excess: the large cost which the soul spends 
upon the body, let that pine, etc. : let the body dwindle 
to increase the soul's possessions, buy terms divine, etc. : 
buy eternal periods of time for the soul by disposing of 
the worthless hours formerly devoted to the body. 

The thought is difficult to grasp ; but once that is done, 
the reading is easy. In 3^our reading be sure to empha- 
size the contrasts that occur so frequently. Read the 
first two quatrains with a suggestion of contemptuous 
pity; read the third quatrain with a suggestion of 
entreaty and advice ; read the couplet w^ith fervor. 

79 

A simple theme demands simple treatment. This 
lyric lacks some of the poetical qualities of others we 
have studied, but it has dignity, simplicity, and earnest- 
ness. In form and in sentiment it is not unlike a hymn. 

Observe that the first sentence includes the first three 
stanzas and that the last sentence includes the last two 
stanzas. 

Read simply, clearly, naturall}^, and with conviction. 



NOTES 461 

80 

Another poem that carries a comparison throughout. 
The ''Lessons of Nature" are lessons not only from 
inanimate nature, but from society and history. The 
''volume" is a manuscript book of medieval times, with 
colored vellum, gold edges and margins, colored ribbons 
attached as book-marks, and pictures on the margin — 
all of which means, in the figure, the obvious and beau- 
tiful aspects of nature. 

of Mm, 1. 3 ; modifies "art and wisdom," 1. 4. in every 
'page, 1. 8; modifies "find out." no period of the same: 
no end to the same — that is, to God's power, providence, 
and justice. 

Read with simplicity and seriousness. 

81 

A strong protest against the apparent injustice in 
the world. The vicious are most fortunate, the virtuous 
most miserable. 

Notice the abruptness with which the poem starts. 
those souls, etc. : blind fortune proves most a friend to 
those souls that are most blinded by vice's evil, change- 
able mists. 

The sonnet is strong and impressive. Notice that the 
first and third quatrains are made up of questions. 
Read forcibly and in a somewhat indignant tone. Make 
the couplet an urgent appeal. 

82 

A catalog of the world's injustices. In the first line 

the poet states that he is tired with "all these", the list 

of wrongs mentioned in the sonnet. In the couplet he 

repeats the thought of the first line and declares that 



462 '^^lil^ COLUEN TREASURY 

he would wish to die but that he must then leave his 
friend. 

Pronounce the last word in line 8 "disable-ed." 
doctor-lil'e: like a learned person, simplicity: affected 
artlessness. 

Doubtless Shakespeare had in mind specific examples 
of 'Hhe world's way." The poem will make a stronger 
appeal to us if we fit the lines to persons that we know 
or know of. As you read, you will observe the monotony 
of the lines. This was intended ; make it emphatic by 
reading the lines in the same level tone, with scorn and 
contempt throughout. ]\Iake a pause before the couplet ; 
then read the first line emphatically and the last line 
in a lower, softer tone. 

83 

The city dweller's desire to live in the country. A 
simple little poem, artless but not inartistic. 

unhaunted: uninhabited. Supply ''who" after ''he" 
in the first line. 

Read in a meditative and quiet, yet earnest, tone. 
Express the wistfulness of the poet's utterance — wist- 
fulness because the poet feels that his wish is not to be 
gratified. Put this expression especially into the reading 
of the last line. 

84 

A character sketch. It has vigor and picturesqueness. 
The poet follows closely the description given in IMatthew 
and Mark. 

parched hody, etc. : his parched body and hollow eyes 
made him appear some uncouth thing exiled from civ- 
ilization long before, relent: the echoes lived in rocky 
caves and are thought of as being themselves obdurate. 

This is the only religious lyric in Book One. Read 



NOTES 463 

the first two quatrains in a strong, earnest manner. The 
exhortation of John should be in a loud, ejaculatory 
voice. Read the last three lines more quietly, with 
something of melancholy in the tones. The last two 
w^ords, being an echo, should be very faint. 



BOOK II 

85 

Read the poem through first, to get the general impres- 
sion and to study the main thoughts. You wall observe 
that the first four stanzas, which are in a metre different 
from the rest of the poem, form the introduction. The 
first two stanzas of the hymn describe the season, the 
next three tell of the peace that existed on earth at the 
time of Christ 's birth ; etc. Follow the broad divisions 
of thought in this w^ay. 

The poem is, as the title suggests, a hymn expressing 
certain ideas and sentiments appropriate to the nativity 
of Christ. Milton was the great Puritan poet : his nature 
was essentially religious, and he was a diligent student 
of the Bible. He had been meditating on this subject 
for some time, and began to w^rite the poem on a Christ- 
mas morning. All this is to be taken into account in 
interpreting the Hymn. In spite of the classical learn- 
ing displayed, in spite of the exaggerations and con- 
ceits, it is a sincere emanation of the poet's nature. The 
religious mood, the meditation, the quiet and profound 
thought, and the occasional burst of ecstasy, are all 
characteristics of the poet. The language is lofty, dig- 
nified, musical, full of classical and biblical imagery 
and allusions. The words are somewhat bookish, and 
many of them are used in their literal, rather than in 



464 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

the popular significance. If you will study the diction 
from the standpoint of etymology, you will discover that 
]\Iilton never errs in his use of words. 

But you must examine the words carefully before you 
can get the full meaning from Milton. Only the most 
baffling difficulties will be explained here ; consult a good 
dictionary for the others. St. Ill, heavenly muse: There 
were but nine muses, but Milton here invokes a tenth 
one (as he does in the first lines of Paradise Lost), 
which is to inspire him to sing of heavenly things. St. 
IV, prevent: go before. touched probably modifies 
''voice" — See Isaiah 6, 6-7. St. 1, gaudy: holiday. St. 
3, turning sphere: a reference to the old Ptolemaic astron- 
omy, according to which the sun, the moon, and each of 
the planets was imbedded in a separate transparent 
sphere, which revolved around the earth. St. 4, awful: 
awe-struck. St. 5, tvhist: hushed, a participle, birds of 
calm: halcyons — Consult a classical dictionary. St. 7, as: 
as if. St. 8, laum: grassy plain. Simply: innocently. 
Pan: the Greek god of all-nature; here it represents 
Christ, kindly: as a kinsman, silly: simple. St. 9, 
took: bewitched, close: end of a strain of music. St. 11, 
unexpressive: inexpressible. St. 12, So7is of Morning: 
See Job. 38, 7. St. 13, consort: harmonious accompani- 
ment. St. 14, speckled: spotted, leprous. St. 17, The old 
Dragon: See Rev. 20, 2. St. 22, twice-hatter'd god: See 
Sam. 5, 3. St. 24, unshoivered grass: referring to the Nile 
country, which is watered by overflowing of the river. 

The metre of the four introductory stanzas is iambic 
pentameter, except for the last line of the stanza, which 
is iambic hexameter — an alexandrine. The metre of the 
Hymn is iambic trimeter in the 1st, 2nd, 4th, and 5th 
lines ; iambic pentameter in the 3rd and 6th lines, iambic 
tetrameter in the 7th, and iambic hexameter in the 8th. 



NOTES 465 

The trimeters are paired off by position and by rhyme- 
words; the pentameters rhyme, enclosing a pair of tri- 
meters ; the tetrameter rhymes with the hexameter. The 
iambs are varied with trochees and spondees. Notice 
that the short lines lead up to the longer ones. Alto- 
gether, the form, although fixed and definite, allows 
free play of thought and emotion and fits admirably the 
skifting music of the poem. The stanza usually con- 
tains three clauses or ideas : the first one includes the 
first three lines; the second, the next three; the third, 
the last two— the clauses usually ending with long lines. 
This produces certain movements— ''waves", they might 
be called, the third one being longer and more swelling. 
Observe the strength and majesty and melody of the 
last line. 

As for the sounds, they vary as the emotion varies. 
In some stanzas the notes are soft and subdued, as St. 2 ; 
in others, melodious, as St. 5; in others, melancholy, 
minor, as St. 20 ; in others, animated, as St. 13 ; in others, 
discordant, as St. 17. Milton makes abundant use of 
alliteration and assonance. You should analyze a few 
stanzas in order to discover the sources of the musical 

effects. 

After you have outlined the poem and have mastered 
the details and studied the harmony and movement, read 
the poem aloud. Determine the predominant idea and 
mood of each stanza before you read ; then bring it out 
clearly. The sound echoes the sense so perfectly that 
you should be able, after some practice, to do this 
very well. Keep in mind that the shorter lines lead up 
to the long ones: the tones should increase in power. 
Imagine waves surging up on the sea-shore. Keep in 
mind also that this is a sincerely religious poem: en- 
deavor to express the religious emotion that permeates 



466 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

it. And if you find that you do not care for the poem 
after all this study, keep on reading and studying it, 
for it is one of the literary masterpieces of the world. 

86 

This ode was written to be sung to music. Since the 
occasion was the celebration of St. Cecilia, patron saint 
of music and supposed inventor of the organ, the power 
of music to arouse the different emotions is, appropri- 
ately, the theme. 

St. 2, Jiihal: See Gen. 4, 21. chorded shell: a shell, 
with chords or wires stretched across, passion: intense 
emotion of any kind. St. 3, mortal alarms: calls to 
deadly strife. St. 8, tJiis crumbling pageant: the earth, 
the ''universal frame." 

The first stanza expresses the thought that the uni- 
verse was shaped by the power of music ; the second in- 
troduces the thought of the various passions excited by 
music, and this is developed in the next four stanzas. 
The trumpet and drum represent war ; the flute and lute, 
"the woes of hapless lovers"; the violins, their jealousy, 
indignation; the organ, religious feeling. The seventh 
stanza continues the theme of the sixth and praises 
Cecilia. The Grand Chorus restates the idea of the 
first stanza and adds the thought that music shall 
unshape the universe, even as it shaped it. If the song 
were set to modern vocal and orchestral music, the dif- 
ferent instruments would doubtless be made prominent 
in the stanzas descriptive of them, and perhaps they 
would all join in the chorus. Keep this idea in mind as 
you read. 

Dryden shows wonderful power in suggesting the 
varying emotions by the sounds. Notice in the first 
four lines of the 3rd stanza, the harsh consonants and 



NOTES 4(37 

broad, sonorous vowels ; and observe how martially regu- 
lar is the movement. Observe the shifting of the accent 
at the beginning of the fifth line and the use of con- 
cussive consonants and heavy vowels. In the last two 
lines the irregularity of accent suggests the excitement 
and confusion of the battle. The 4th stanza plainly 
suggests the music of the flute and lute. Notice the soft, 
liquid consonants: ''f", ''1", ''m", ''s "-sonant; and the 
soft, pretty vowels, especially "u" and "o". Violins 
are next suggested. The prominent vowel is ''a" and 
'^a"; the prominent consonants are the explosive conso- 
nants; *'p" and ''d". The 6th stanza represents the 
soft, sustained notes of the organ. All these suggestions 
are so vivid that they come close to imitation. 

This poem lends itself readily to purely ''elocution- 
ary" effects. Avoid that. Make the reading give hints 
as to the different instruments and express the changing 
emotions; but exercise restraint. It is w^orth while to 
commit the four stanzas just discussed, as illustrations 
of what sounds can do in suggesting emotions. 

87 

Based on the massacre of the Vaudois, the Protestant 
subjects of the Catholic Duke of Savoy in Piedmont. 
The act aroused hot resentment among the Puritans in 
England. Milton, then Cromwell's secretary, wrote the 
state papers protesting against the deed. Shortly after- 
ward he wrote this sonnet. His sympathy and fierce 
earnestness are evident. It is a cry for vengeance and 
a prayer that God will make ''the blood of the martyrs 
the seed of the church." 

stocks and stories: alluding to the use of images by 
Catholics, triple Tyrant: the Pope, with his tiara or 
triple crown. Babylonian ivoe: Milton, like other Puri- 



468 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

t:ms, considered Papacy the Babylon mentioned in Reve- 
lations 17 and 18. 

Wordsworth says, in his sonnet on the Sonnet, that 
in ]Milton's hands the sonnet ''became a trumpet, whence 
he blew soul-animating strains." There is something of 
the trumpet note in this sonnet. Read it boldly, as a 
cry for vengeance. Read by sentences, not lines. 

89 

A pastoral elegy. ''Lycidas" is the fanciful name 
given by -^lilton to his dead friend and schoolmate, 
Edward King, who was drowned in the Irish Channel. 
The poem is called a pastoral because Milton speaks of 
himself and his friend as shepherds and employs pas- 
toral images to clothe his ideas. It may seem somewhat 
artificial, but the poetry resulting from the plan is so 
beautiful that we may easily forgive the artificiality. 

The outline is plain : the first lines of each section 
reveal the theme of the section. Two of the sections, 
6 and 8, are digressions in "higher mood." 

Sec. 1 Yet once more: referring to the fact that Mil- 
ton had written no poetry for about three years. Ap- 
parently he had not expected to write until he was more 
mature, but the occasion compelled him. laurels, myr- 
tles, and ivy: representing King's poetry, beauty, and 
learning, harsh and crude: bitter and unripe, refer- 
ring not to King, but by a transference of thought, to 
Milton himself and his immaturity. Sec. 2 Sisters of 
the sacred well: the muses, some gentle muse: some 
muse-inspired poet. Sec. 3 For tve ivere nursed, etc.: 
referring to their companionship in the same college at 
Cambridge, rural ditties: referrmg to their writing of 
poetry. Damoetas: a pastoral name, here given to some 



NOTES 469 

elderly friend, or teacher, of the two young men. Sec. 
5 the muse herself: Calliope, muse of epic poetry, mother 
of Orpheus. Read the legend of Orpheus in a classical 
dictionary. ro\it: a disorderly crowd, referring to the 
Bacchanalian women, as does also ''the hideous roar.'* 
Sec. 6 to tend the shepherd's trade: to cultivate poetry 
and the other fine arts. Amaryllis and Neaera: names 
of shepherdesses. Milton is here alluding to the gay 
and, in his eyes, trifling poets of his times, clear: noble, 
serene. ''Clear spirit" is the object of "doth raise." 
the blind Fury: Atropos, one of the three fates, who cuts 
the thread of life. Phoehus: god of music, poetry, and 
the fine arts, here interrupts the poet's gloomy words. 
foil: an object used to set off another object by contrast. 
Perhaps the figure is that of a stone set in a ring, the 
latter acting as a foil. Sec. 7 Arethuse and 3Iincius: 
representing the pastoral poetry of Theocritus and Vir- 
gil. Milton here almost apologizes to the two earlier 
poets for departing from the rules of pastoral poetry 
and introducing a "higher mood", but he tells them 
that now he will continue the pastoral theme — the ' ' oat ' ' 
representing Milton's pastoral muse, in Neptune's plea: 
on behalf of Neptune, god of the ocean. Hippotades: 
Aeolus, ruler of the winds, son of Hippotes. Sec. 8 
Camus: the river Cam, representing Cambridge Univer- 
sity. The Cam is a sluggish stream, sanguine: bloody. 
The flower is the hyacinth : see the legend. Pilot of the 
Galilean lake: Peter, here standing for the church in 
general, not the Catholic church. King had intended 
to enter the clergy. The golden key represents Mercy ; 
the iron, Justice. The passage is a stern indictment of 
the clefgy of the established church, displaying Milton's 
Puritanism in all its grim vigor, blind mouths: By a 



4Y0 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

bold metonymy the poet describes in two words the 
false ministers and their prevailing characteristics : igno- 
rance and greed, are sped: are provided for. flashy: 
insipid, the grim wolf: the Catholic church. Milton 
accuses the clergy of the Anglican church of allowing 
the priests to make inroads on their flocks, tivo-handed 
engine: perhaps the ax, representing the instrument of 
vengeance and destruction. See Matt. 3, 10. Some stu- 
dents see in this a reference to the headsman's ax and 
a prophecy that Laud, the Archbishop of the Church of 
England, would be beheaded. Probably Milton did not 
wish to be very clear. Sec. 9 Alpheus: another stream 
connected with Greek pastoral poetry. Sicilian muse: 
the muse that inspired Theocritus. After this second 
unpastoral outburst, IMilton again resumes the pastoral 
strain. tise: dwell. of shades modifies ''valleys." 
swart star: the Dog-star, sparely: seldom, let our frail 
thoughts, etc. : Milton has just been speaking of strew- 
ing Lycidas' hearse with flowers; now it occurs to him 
that this is a "false surmise," since the body has been 
lost at sea. monstrous icorld: world of monsters, the 
ocean, moist voivs: tearful prayers, fahle of Bellerus 
old: Bellerium is a promontory in Lands-end, named 
apparently from Bellerus, a giant. Near this is a pro- 
jection of rock called St. Michael's Mount. St. Michael 
was said to have been seen here, seated on a crag, hence 
called St. Michael's Chair. This part of England faces 
Spain: Namancos and Bayona. Milton thinks of St. 
Michael as still seated in this chair, ''guarded mount," 
looking out across the sea; and the poet invokes him to 
turn his look toward England, and, melting with pity, 
discover Lycidas' body and send it home. Sec. 10 
Genius: guardian spirit. Sec. 11 uncouth swain: un- 
known shepherd; Miltcm himself. Boric lay: Sicilian, 



NOTES 471 

• pastoral song. Look up all other allusions and un- 
familiar words. 

The metre chosen for ^'Lycidas" is iambic tetrameter, 
interspersed with iambic trimeter. Trochees are com- 
mon and spondees frequent. The rhyme scheme is irreg- 
ular: sometimes the rhymes are in couplets, sometimes 
in alternate lines; sometimes two rhyme sounds are 
found, sometimes more; a good many lines are not 
rhymed at all. The sections are of different lengths. 
This flexibility of metrical plan is partially respon- 
sible for the ease and spontaneity of the movement. The 
short lines are nearly always strong and retard the 
movement. The sentences run over from line to line. 

Of the verbal beauties there is not time to speak. 
Almost every line will reveal graces of thought and 
phrase. Accuracy in diction, force, picturesquen^ss, sin- 
cerity, expressive figures of speech — these are some of 
the qualities of the language. Words are brought to- 
gether in happy combinations, and the coincidence of 
sound and sense is perfect. The lines beginning ''Fame 
is the spur" are worth memorizing. The pastoral idea 
is well sustained, and adds beauty and sweetness to the 
thought and expression. 

In your reading try to express the varying emotions 
of the poet. The predominant emotion is, of course, 
grief; but there are various modifications of this. Some 
stanzas are pathetic, some indignant, some resigned, 
some hopeful. Do not try to force strict rhythm into 
your reading: merely follow the natural emphasis, and 
the rhythm will show itself flexible and graceful. Linger 
over the strong, expressive lines and such onomatopoeic 
sentences as: "But oh! the heavy change, now thou art 
gone," and "Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched 
straw." Bring out the noble thought and exquisite 



472 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

music of stanza 10. Read the choice passages over and 
over — '^Lycidas" is one of those poems that become 
more beautiful the longer you live with them. 

90 

Many of England's monarehs are buried in Westmin- 
ster Abbey. As the poet gazes on their tombs, he medi- 
tates on the impotence of earthly power. The poem is 
suggestive of an epitaph, both in theme and in style. 
The employment of ''here is," ''here lie" to introduce 
sentences is in true epitaph manner, and the short lines 
rhyming in couplets carry out the same idea. The poem 
is remarkable for dignity, pathos, and for its forcible 
statement of a great truth. A touch of scorn for human 
greatness is discernible. 

acre: a cemetery is sometimes called God's Acre. The 
word "acre" formerly meant "field", which explains 
the next line. Once dead hy fate: as soon as fate has 
overtalten them. 

Read with dignity, solemnity, and pathos. A hint of 
scorn should creep into the expression in such sentences 
as "Here's an acre," etc. The conception of the tombs 
as pulpits from which the dead preach is striking. In 
Taylor's "Holy Dying" the author uses some ideas from 
this poem: "There is an acre sown with royal seed, 
the copy of the greatest change, from rich to naked, 
from ceiled roofs to arched coffins, from living like gods 
to die like men." 

92 

Death is here well called "The Leveler", for that is 
the thought of the poem. Kingly power is the theme in 
the first stanza; martial glory, in the second; in the 
third the poet makes a personal application, using the 
second person instead of the third. The poem is noted 



NOTES 473 

for directness and nobility. Some of the phrases are 
very expressive: ''icy hand," ''poor, crooked scythe," 
"pale captives," "creep to death," "victor-victim." 
The first two and the last two lines of the poem are 
true and forcible, and they serve well as introduction 
and conclusion. The figure of the actions of the just 
smelling sweet and blossoming is appropriate and strik- 
ing. The line, "And must give up their murmuring 
breath" is onomatopoeic. 

Read with simple earnestness. The pairs of short 
lines form sentences in themselves : read them slowly and 
with intensity. Bring out the contrasts, such as ' ' They 
tame but one another still" with "They stoop to fate." 
The entire poem is worth committing to memory. 

93 

Milton wrote this when London, where he was then liv- 
ing, was threatened by an assault by the royal army. In 
the original title the sonnet is spoken of as "written on 
his, Milton's, door." IMilton had been a pronounced 
opponent of the royalists. His sonnet is a dignified 
appeal for mercy. It is more simple and direct than 
much of the poet's w^ork. 

Colonel: a trisyllable. Emathimi conqueror: Alex- 
ander the Great, who, when he destroyed Thebes, spared 
the house of Pindar the poet, repeated air: recited air 
or chorus. Athens is said to have been saved from 
destruction by the Spartan Confederacy because at the 
council of the conquerors a poet sang some verses from 
Euripides' drama "Electra." This so affected the 
hearers that they declared that the home city of so great 
a poet ought not to be destroyed. Both these allusions 
are appropriate. 

This sonnet does not blow the trumpet, as the theme 



474 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

and the circumstances do not fit that sound. Read 
quietly and earnestly. 

94 

IMilton became blind when he was but forty-four. lie 
still acted as Cromwell's secretary; but he felt that his 
one talent, power to write poetry, was being hidden ''in 
a napkin", and, Puritan-like, he regrets that he cannot 
''serve his Maker." The sonnet is sincere, earnest, de- 
vout. The last line is a beautiful expression of truth. 

is spent: is used up. DotJi God exact, etc. : Does God 
expect me to do work that can be performed only in the 
daytime, when he denies me light? Notice that the first 
sentence takes up the first seven lines and a part of the 
eighth. The outline of the sentence is: "When I con- 
sider, etc., I fondly (foolishly) ask, 'Does God exact,' 
etc." 

Read by ideas, not lines ; for, as you will observe, the 
ideas usually end within the line. Remember that the 
poet is speaking from his heart. Read the poem ear- 
nestly, suggesting the despondency of the first seven 
lines, and the triumphant answer to that despondency 
in the last seven. Read the last line with conviction and 
exaltation. 

97 
The thought of this poem is fanciful, buc graceful and 
pretty. The stanza structure is good. Short lines, 
rhyming with each other, begin and end the stanza, and 
enclose the three longer lines. The closing of the stanza 
is strong and effective. Herbert's title for the poem was 
"The Pulley", which better states the theme: though 
man have all the blessings that God pours out on him, 
yet they do not bring him peace. Peace is the pulley 
that draws man to God. 



NOTES 475 

The word "rest" means peace, in the second stanza; 
in the third, it is a verb, meaning ''remain satisfied;" 
in the fourth, it means "remainder of the blessings." 

In your reading aim primarily at making the thought 
clear. Before you begin a sentence, look through it to 
see the relation of the parts, and in your reading reveal 
this relation. Bring out the contrasts sharply. 



The general thought of this poem is, that the child 
faintly remembers the glories and beauty of his life in 
heaven before he was born on earth, that mortal life 
and age sully his purity, and that the poet would fain 
return or "retreat" to childhood. It is a very pretty 
idea. Wordsworth uses part of it in his "Intimations of 
Immortality. ' ' 

a several sin,' eta.: a separate sin to every one of the 
senses and emotions, bright shoots, etc.: strong sugges- 
tions of immortality, of a previous existence, glorious 
train: company of angels. 

The simple form of the poem, the directness of expres- 
sion, and the theme, all call for simplicity in reading. 
Earnestness and a sort of wistfulness should also char- 
acterize the reading. Be watchful to avoid the monotony 
that is likely to mar the oral rendering of this poem. 
Carry the thought over from line to line, not pausing 
at the end of a line unless the phrase clearly ends there. 

99 
Mr. Lawrence was the son of Henry Lawrence, a mem- 
ber of Cromwell's council. Of the son little is known. 
If we may .judge from this sonnet, he and ]\Iilton were 
in the habit of passing an occasional social hour together. 
The sonnet is a poetical invitation to Mr. Lawrence to 



476 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

set a tinio and phu o for siu-h a meeting'. The tinu» of 
the poem is probably late winter. 

gaiiting: modities "we". "AVhat may be won" is tlie 
objeet of ''i-ainin^-. " the lib/ and the rose, etc.: Milton 
introduces these tlowers and the fact that they live with- 
out hibor as fitting his invitation to relaxation and free- 
dom from labor, he who of fhese delights, etc.: he that 
appreciates these social delights and yet does not resort 
to them too frequently, is wise. 

The sonnet is somewhat conversational in tone. Read 
it brightly, voicing the lightness of the poet's mood and 
the nuisical grace of the language. 

100 

On a theme similar to the preceding. Cyriack Skinner, 
a former pupil of Milton, was interested in mathematics 
and politics. Ilis grandfather was Sir Edward Coke, 
chief- justice of England and the author of many law 
books. 

Swede and French: The Swede is Charles Augustus, 
who was at this time waging war with Poland, while the 
French were warring Avith Spain, for other tilings: 
other than mathematics and politics. 

Read in the same spirit as the preceding. ^lilton is 
usually sombre ; when we chance upon him in one of his 
gayer hours, let us make the most oi' him. 

103 
Fanciful and ingenious. The underlying thought is 
sincere, but the form and language is studied. The first 
five stanzas, which form one sentence, introduce the 
poet's wishes for the imaginary mistress. The next 
eleven enumerate the wishes: beauty, St. 6-9; conversa- 
tional power, St. 10; happiness, St. ll-l-t; such a life 



XOTKS 477 

that dares face death, St. 15. All the wishes mentioned 
are the ohject of the verb "wish", stanza 0. In stanza 
IG the poet wishes that his mistress may kave so much 
that she will have no wishes. In the remainder of the 
poem Crashaw asks Time to produce such a parawm as 
he has described, declaring that she will be his ideal 
(embody his random wishes and end them in kisses j. 

St. 2, leaves of destiny: book of fate, that ripe birth, 
(tic : that mature product of ordained Fate shall hiypasLV 
— referrinj^ to the' maiden. St. JO, Sidneian shovjers: 
language as sweet and pretty as Sir J-*hi]ip Sidney ases 
in his "Arcadia." St. 11, give down to the wings of 
night: make repose .sound and peaceful, "down" being 
here a noun. St. 13, frrrespent: wasted. The wish in 
this stanza is that the maiden's days may be joyful with- 
out a preceding night of sorrow to serve as a foil. St. 19, 
I unclothe and clear, etc. : I clear away the vagueness of 
my wishes and declare that I mean such a one as the 
maiden mentioned in the two preceding .stanzas. St. 21, 
let her full glory, etc. : may her real nature excel my 
desires. ^lay my wishes, though addressed to an imag- 
inary mistress, prove to be a true description of a real 
person. 

Observe the peculiar metrical scheme: a dimeter, a 
trimeter, and a tetrameter, all rhyming. Observe the 
alliteration, sometimes double, as, ".s-fudied /'ate .s-fand 
/orth" and "rampant /eather or rich /an," Observe 
the occasional feminine rhyme. 

The poem, though artificial, has grace, delicacy, and a 
cameo-like finish. It has music, too, of a quaint, staccato 
kind ; but unless the reader is careful, he will fall into 
a monotony of expression, for the one musical note is 
repeated over and over. Read simply and directly, striv- 
ing to make the thoughts clear and the feeling evident. 



478 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

105 

Full of clever, beautiful fancies. The mood is both 
tender and playful. The poet is gazing upon a picture 
of a little girl lying in a field of flowers and playing with 
roses. He looks into her future and sees her excelling 
Cupid in power to inspire love. In the third stanza he 
prays that she will not try her power on him. In the 
fourth stanza he asks her, since she is playing with 
flowers, to reform certain errors that spring has com- 
mitted in creating flowers. In the fifth he advises her 
not to pluck the buds, lest Flora, goddess of vegetation, 
'^make the example hers" — that is, pluck her, while she 
is yet a bud. Observe how much the poet makes out of 
the fact that the child is among the flowers. The met- 
rical plan is whimsical and artificial : the poet is playing 
with his thoughts. 

St. 3, compound: make peace. The imagery of the 
stanza is martial. St. 5, ere ive see, etc. : lest Flora nip 
thee and all our hopes of thee in the bud, before we have 
really seen thee and them. 

Read in a half-playful, half-serious manner, as if ad- 
dressing a child. The fancies are finely humorous ; bring 
them out clearly and musicall3^ It is a charming little 
poem if you can get into the proper mood and can read 
it in the proper spirit. 

106 
This somewhat resembles the preceding lyric; but in 
this the poet is speaking to a young lady instead of to a 
little girl, and is looking back to her childhood instead 
of forward to her maidenhood. It sounds more earnest 
and sincere than the preceding one; yet we feel that 
it is but the flattering homage an old beau pays to a 



NOTES 479 

young belle. The contrast between the infancy and the 
maturity of the maiden, and the partnership of Cupid 
and Venus, the one to make a lover of the poet and the 
other to make a beauty of the maiden — all this is ex- 
pressed with delicate skill. 

Read in a semi-regretful, semi-humorous style, suggest- 
ing the pretended sighs and courtly grace of a gallant 
of the old school. The reading should be light and 
dainty, like some old air played on the harpsichord. 

109 

A lyric gem, a perfect specimen of sincerity speaking 
in the courtly style of the period. IMark the simplicity 
of the words and images. Not a word is wasted : the poet 
in a few sentences gives a lifelike picture of a noble 
cavalier parting from his mistress. An entire poem lies 
in the word ''nunnery". The last stanza — indeed, the 
whole poem — has been much admired and quoted. 

Read simply and earnestly, bringing out the pictures 
and the contrasts. 

Ill 

Even Milton tries his skill at the prevailing style. His 
tribute, however, is sincere and unaffected. Most of the 
sonnet is taken up with a description of Lady Margaret 's 
father, who was Earl of IMarlborough, Lord High Treas- 
urer, and President of the Council of James I. Milton 
says the breaking of the third parliament of Charles 
"broke him": at least, he died four days afterwards. 

dislionest victory: Isocrates, a Greek orator, here called 
"old man eloquent", died four days after hearing the 
report of Philip the Great's victory over the Athenians 
at Chaeronea. 

Read with simplicity and sincerity. 



480 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 

113 

An exquisite little piece in Herrick's characteristic 
style and on one of his favorite themes. Though direct 
and forceful, it is dainty and musical. 

ivJienas: when, considering the fact that. 

The poet is not scornful: he is only complimenting 
Dianeme and affectionately chiding her. Read to bring 
out the central thought and the poet's mood. 

115 

The poet sends a rose to his ''fair, disdainful dame", 
telling it to bear her a message. He has formerly com- 
pared her to a rose; now she is to see the resemblance. 
Both are sweet and fair, but neither is of value unless 
seen of men. Then the rose is to die, that the maiden 
may realize how fleeting are sweetness and beauty. It 
is a pretty fancy, and it is worked out ingeniously and 
artistically. The movement is the capricious one, so 
popular during this period and the preceding. 

In your reading suggest meditation, animation, and 
tenderness. The lyric sounds a pretty strain of music, 
which lies in the soft, gliding movement and in the sub- 
dued notes. You have not read this well until you have 
read it musically. 

117 

** Cherry ripe" was the cry of the street vendors of 
cherries. Here, of course, the cherries are the lady's 
lips, and ''cherry ripe" is the signal she is to give that 
she is in the mood to love and be kissed. Perhaps the 
author is Thomas Campion : it is a favorite stanza form 
of his. The poem may be a trifle too luscious for our 
taste, but we cannot deny its delicacy and prettiness. 
The refrain is well employed. 



NOTES 481 

The mood is of admiration ratlier than love. Read 
lightly and musically. 

118 

One of the gayest, most graceful, and most musical of 
the Golden Treasury lyrics. The theme, the mood of 
the poet, and the form and language of the poem are in 
exact accord. The poem is based on the custom of rising 
early on the first of Llay, to fetch flowers and boughs 
from the field and decorate doors and windows. The 
poet is to be tHought of as standing outside his mis- 
tress' house, awaiting her, that they may set off together. 

St. 1, god unshorn: Apollo, sometimes called imberbis, 
or beardless, Apollo. He is always represented as beard- 
less. He was god of the sun. Aurora, the morning, 
ushers in Apollo, the sun. how'd toward the east: as 
the Mohammedans in prayer. The flowers and the birds 
have said their prayers, foliage: dress, here used as sug- 
gesting the spring-time. St. 2, against yon come: in 
anticipation of your coming, dew-lochs of the night: 
a word coined by Herrick. It seems to mean "dewy 
locks", the hair of night wet with dew. heads: prayers. 
St. 3, each field turns a street: because so tlironged with 
people, each street a park: because so adorned with 
branches, to bring in may: bring blossoms of hawthorn. 
St. 4, many a green goivn, etc.: many a one has been 
tumbled in the grass. Love's firmament: the established 
home of Love. 

Be sure that you feel and express the gayety, the high 
spirits of the poet. He is impatient to be off, and he 
hurries the tardy Corinna along with lively descriptions 
of the joys they are missing. The last stanza is a fine 
expression of the philosophy: ''Eat, drink, and be 
merry, for tomorrow we grow old." Whoever does not 
enjoy this ebullition of spirits, needs a tonic. 



482 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

119 

Most of the poets of this period took delight in blowing 
poetry bubbles. Here is one of the lightest and flimsiest 
of them. Let us not expect strength, nobility, or pro- 
fundity; let us look for the qualities that belong to a 
bubble. 

I leant onness: careless grace, distraction: disorder. 
erring: straying loose, therehy: beside it. tvild civil- 
ity: unconventional style. (This last is a poor para- 
phrase, but the idea can hardly be expressed in other 
words than the poet's. It is a figure of speech called 
oxymoron.) II liquefaction: referring to the rustling, 
liquid sound of the silk, taketh: bewitcheth. 

The poet is, of course, toying with his theme. Observe 
the humorous exaggeration of the language. Read with 
assumed seriousness, betrayed by just a twinkle of fun. 

123 

Perhaps this is one of Quarles' mystical-religious 
poems, the ''Best-Beloved" being Christ. Somewhat 
formal and artificial, but direct and sincere. The refrain 
is well used. 

counter to my coin: a worthless piece of money com- 
pared to my wealth. A counter was a bit of cheap metal, 
used only for reckoning. 

Read simply and earnestly. 

125 
The first four lines are apparently serious; but the 
last six lines, with the capricious metre and the sugges- 
tion of affectionate teasing, are to be read lightly. 

127 
The poet has been cast into prison through his loyalty 
to Charles I. But he is not really imprisoned, since his 



NOTES 483 

tlionglits are free, and lie can think of Althea, perhaps 
l3c visited hy her (St. 1) ; have the jovial companionship 
of his fellows (St. 2), and can praise his king (St. 3). 
It is a sincere and manly expression of resignation, high- 
spirited and noble, where one might expect a puling 
sentimentality. The last stanza is particularly beautiful 
and eloquent. The refrain is effective, serving, as it 
does, to conclude each thought and bind them all to- 
gether, as well as to strike the key-note of the lyric. 

tvHh no allaying Thames: undiluted with water, com- 
mitted: imprisoned, caged, sliriller tliroat :i\mi is, shriller 
than linnets, enlarged: unconfined. 

It is a man's song, and voices the undaunted spirit of 
the gallant soldier, rejoicing in his spiritual liberty, 
though suffering bodily confinement. Read brightly and 

boldly. 

128 

The title explains the situation. The poem is some- 
what metaphysical, and does not ring as bold and direct 
as others of Lovelace's, though it shows his high-spirited 
nature. 

Uue-god: Neptune, god of ocean, faith and troth: 
subject of "controls", the two subjects being considered 
as one idea, highest sphere: the crystalline sphere of 
the Ptolemaic astronomy. 

Observe the variety in length of line, and the frequent 
alliteration. There is a pretty, unusual strain of music 
in this lyric: let it be sounded in your reading. Each 
stanza is composed of but one sentence, which should 
be read as one idea. Read brightly, energetically, and 
musically. 

131 

A striking contrast to some of the over-sentimental 
love ditties of the period : perhaps it was disgust at some 



484 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

of them that moved the poet to utter this blasphemy. 
Sir Walter Raleigh had written a poem much in the 
same vein. Perhaps Wither had seen that, though most 
of Wither 's work is characterized by the qualities we 
find in this selection. Observe that the theme of the 
first stanza is beauty ; of the second, kindness ; of the 
third, goodness ; of the fourth, greatness ; and that these 
qualities are restated in the last line of each stanza 
and summed up in reverse order in the first line of the 
last stanza. 

pelican: often alluded to as a type of kindness, because 
it was said to permit its offspring to feed on its blood. 
shall I play the fool: perhaps with a reminiscence of 
Macbeth 's words, ''Why should I play the Roman fool 
and die?" if not outward helps, etc. : if she does not see 
in her suitor ''outward helps", such as rank and riches, 
she reflects that a man who dares to woo her without 
such advantages would be able to accomplish almost 
anything if he had them. 

Read boldly and energetically, with scorn and pride. 
The first four lines of the last stanza are tender and 
earnest, but the poem ends in the original key. 

133 

An old Scottish folk-song. The author is unknown. 
Probably the central idea was expressed by some one 
poetically gifted; then, as it was handed down by oral 
rendering, it was changed and improved ; fhially it was 
finished by some folk-artist. Its charm lies in its deep 
sincerity, its intense emotion, its directness and artless- 
ness. Pay especial attention to the images from nature, 
used not only to give the setting, but also as symbols 
of feeling. Notice also the skilful musical alliteration, 
the occasional internal rhyme, and the frequent use of 



NOTES 



485 



''e" as a rhyming vowel. The song is sung by a deceived 
and deserted Scotch maiden. Observe the naive and 
apparently inconsequent mention of the clothing the 
couple wore when they "came in by Glascow town". 
It is a natural, pathetic touch. 

tt^aZ?/.' an exclamation of woe. The ''a" is broad, aik: 
oak. syne: a:8ter. lichtly me: treat me lightly, deceit- 
fully, hnsk: adorn. Arthur-seat and Saint Anton's 
u'dl: places near Edinburgh. Marti'mas: St. Martin's 
Feast is November 11. fell: fierce. 

This is the heartbroken lament of a forsaken girl. 
Eeconstruct by your imagination the whole picture, then 
read it with all the simple pathos you can express. Read 
rhythmically, even though you have to shift the accent 
from the syllable that would naturally receive it. Slightly 
stress the alliterative syllables. 

134 

A simple, rather plaintive lullaby, full of genuine 
maternal love. The refrain is soft and melodious. 

I grieve that duty, etc. : I am sorry that what I am 
able to do falls short of what I would wish to do. 

Read softly and simply and rhythmically. 

135 

One of the few poems in the Golden Treasury which 
suggest a story. The poet is with his sweetheart when 
his foe, perhaps his rival, shoots at him from ambush 
across the river. Helen throws herself in front of her 
lover and is killed. He pursues his foe and slays him. 
The story is told in four stanzas, 2-5 ; the rest of the 
poem is lyric — in truth, it is all more lyrical than narra- 
tive. The poem is wonderful in its simplicity, its irre- 
sistible pathos, its artful artlessness. Observe the repe- 



486 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

titions, especially of the idea of the first stanza, the repe- 
tition of the musical name, Kirconnell lea. Observe the 
use of the ^'e" sound to close each stanza. Observe the 
effect of repeating the line, *'I hacked him in pieces 
sma' ": it is as if the speaker relates this part of the 
story with peculiar zest. 

hurd: maiden, a sort of title. 

In your reading express as much of the pathos of the 
story as possible. There is but one word that is out of 
place; ''succour"; every other word has all the terrible 
sincerity of bereavement, and bereavement imder un- 
usually affecting circumstances. A certain grim ferocity 
is in the fourth and fifth stanzas. Do not try to ''elo- 
cute"; but put yourself into the mood and read nat- 
urally. 

136 

One of ''life's little ironies". As the preceding poem 
might be called tenderly pathetic, this is horribly or 
gruesomely pathetic. This effect is produced largely by 
having the two corbies reveal the situation, as their 
callous language makes the pathos more poignant. Per- 
haps the knight was killed by the man that afterward 
married the lady. 

corhies: crows, fail: turf, liause-banc: neck-bone. 
goivden: golden, theelc: thatch. 

Read simply. If a touch of scorn creeps into the lan- 
guage of the corbies, it will the better reveal the situa- 
tion and the emotion. But try merely to set forth the 
situation and let the emotion go home of its own force. 
The rhythm sliould be pronounced and the alliteration 
should strcngtlien it. 

138 

If the third and fourth stanzas, which are somewhat 
affected and turgid, were as perfect as the other stanzas, 



NOTES 487 

this poem would be extremely beautiful. It has a cer- 
tain solemnity of mood and expression ; and the implied 
comparison between the deserted bird's nest and the 
body is appropriate and suggestive. The alliteration and 
assonance are very apparent — too apparent in some 
places. 

dotJi Irarnple on: is superior to, overpowers, mark: 
boundary. 

Read with dignity and solemnity. 

139 

A delicate, graceful little poem. ]\Iany of Herrick's 
choicest lyrics contain some reference to beauty and joy 
fading and dying. Observe the irregularity in length 
of line. Observe the musical sounds. The first lines of 
each stanza rhyme, which cements the stanzas closely. 

pledges: offspring, brave: showy. 

Pretty fancy and dainty music are the characteristics 
of this lyric. Notice how the movement seems to descend 
from the fourth line to the end of each stanza. Let the 
voice gradually soften until it is almost a whisper. 

142 

A series of quiet, meditative thoughts in a flower- 
vegetable-fruit-garden. The emotion is slight; but the 
language, though often abstruse and stilted, is, for the 
most part, rich and suggestive. The expletive ''do" 
weakens some passages. The somewhat monotonous 
versification fits the theme and the mood. 

St. 1, amaze: perplex, jmlm, oak, hays: crowns from 
these trees signify honors in war, statesmanship, litera- 
ture, single het^h, etc.: in contrast to the many trees 
the poet has. whose short and narroiv-verged shade, etc.: 
whose shade is so scanty compared with the labor they 



488 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

have exerted to win honors that it upbraids, or re- 
proaches, them. St. 2, your sacred plants, etc.: the flow- 
ers of Quiet and Innocence, if they will grow at all on 
earth, will grow only in a garden like this, society is all 
hut rude: almost the only society is that of wild nature. 
St. 3, amorous: here apparently, love-inspiriag. St. 5, 
curious: delicate, exquisite. St. 6. This stanza may be 
paraphrased as follows : Meanwhile the mind does not 
remain stupefied with its own happiness as much as it 
would with other kinds of pleasure. The mind is usually 
an ocean where ^ch nature finds its like; but here it 
creates far different worlds and then annihilates them, 
makes them dwindle to the dimensions of the garden. 
St. 7, body's vest: this vesture, the body, tvhets: preens. 
waves, etc. : waves its wings to bring out the varied lights 
on its plumes. St. 8, ivliat other help, etc. : what pleasure 
could be suitably added to solitude. St. 9, this dial: 
referring to a sort of clock of flowers, which open at 
different hours of the day. 

This poem needs careful study. In reading it, let 
your attention be concentrated on making the thoughts 
clear. Bring out clearly the suggestive ideas. Enjoy 
the mild enthusiasm of the poet, and let your rea-ding 
express it. 

144 and 145 

''L 'Allegro," the cheerful man; "II Penseroso," the 
pensive, or grave man. In the former Milton presents 
a picture of the cheerful man's pleasures through the 
day ; in the latter, the pensive man 's. Both deal much 
with out of door scenes, so have been called lyrics of the 
landscape. The best way to study them is to compare 
them. 

First, outline them. In *'L'Allegro" the first 10 lines 
are devoted to the parentage and birth of ]\Ielancholy 



NOTES 489 

and its banishment; in ''II Penseroso" the first 10 lines 
are devoted to the banishment of idle Joys. Lines 11-24 
in "L 'Allegro" give two possible genealogies of Mirth; 
lines 11-30 in ''II Penseroso" describe the garments and 
give the genealogy of Melancholy. Lines 25-36 in 
"L 'Allegro" enumerate the companions Mirth is to bring 
with her; lines 31-44 in "II Penseroso" describe Melan- 
choly's appearance, and lines 45-60 enumerate her com- 
panions. You should make a complete outline of both 
poems, comparing and contrasting. Notice that a pleas- 
ure in one poem is set off against a pleasure in another ; 
or that when the pleasures are of the same general kind, 
as music, they differ ■ in important respects. Observe 
that the Cheerful Man's day begins in the morning; the 
Pensive Man's, at night. There is more brislmess in 
the former, more of the joys of companionship, more 
sounds. 

144. L. 5, uncouth: unknown. L. 9, ragged: irreg- 
ular. L. 24, huxom: gladsome, lively. L. 34, fantastic toe:- 
the epithet "fantastic" or lively, is here transferred 
from the dance to the foot. L. 45, to come: same con- 
struction as "to hear", in line 41. m spite of sorrow, 
etc. : to come to my window in spite of my sorrow that 
the dawn has risen and the lark has ceased singing. L. 
53, lisftening: modifies "I" understood, not unseen: in 
II Penseroso the man ^'5 unseen. The cheerful man de- 
sires witnesses of his pleasure. L. 67, tells his tale: counts 
his sheep. L. 83, Corijdon, Thyrsis, Phillis, Thestylis: 
names of shepherds and shepherdesses. L. 91, secure: 
free from care. L. 102, Faery Mah: the fairy who sends 
dreams. L. 103, she: a certain maiden; here almost a 
demonstrative pronoun, as is "he" in the next line. 
Friar's lantern: jack 0' lantern. L. 105, drudging Goh- 
lin: some of these fairies would labor hard all night if 



490 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

a bowl of cream were set out for them, tower' d cities, 
etc. : perhaps Milton means that he here bej^^ins to read, 
not that he goes in person to the city. L. 132, Jonson's 
learned sock: the sock was the shoe worn by the Greek 
comedians. Jonson's plays were full of learning. L. 
133. Fancy's child: child of Imagination. L. 134^ ivarhle, 
etc. : Shakespeare is here contrasted with Jonson. He is 
thought of as having written without pains, as singing 
extempore. L. 139, houts: folds. L. 141, ivanton heed 
and giddy cunning: oxymorons, meaning that the mel- 
ody, though gay and spontaneous, is, nevertheless, art- 
fully constructed. 

145. L. 18, Prince Memnon's sister: Hemera. Mem- 
non was the handsomest of warriors, and Llilton credits 
his sister with the same degree of beauty. L, 19, 
Ethiope queen: Cassiope. L. 36, decent: graceful. L. 46, 
spare: lean. Because of his fasting he has visions. L. 
53, fiery-wheeled throne: see Ez. 10, 2. Contemplation 
is thought of as taking a long flight, carrying the in- 
tellectual and emotional powers along. L. 55, hist: to 
bring along silently. L. 59, dragon yoke: Night's chariot 
Avas fabled to be drawn by dragons. L. 60, accustomed 
oak: the oak where the nightingale is accustomed to sing. 
L. 78, removed: remote. L. 87, outwatch the Bear: the 
constellation, the Great Bear. As it never sets, the poet 
intends to stay up all night to read Hermes and Plato. 
L. 88, unsphere the spirit of Plato: bring him back from 
his station in the other world by reading his books. L. 
95, consent: sympathy. The demons are thought of as 
having power over the planets and the elements. L. 99, 
Thehes: several Greek tragedies make Thebes the scene 
of the action. Pelops' line: referring to tragedies by 
Aeschylus about Agamemnon, a descendant of Pelops. 
L. 100, tale of Troy: not Homer, but tragedies on Troy. 



NOTES 491 

L. 102, husJiincd stage: tragic stage, the buskin being a 
boot worn by Greek tragic actors. L. 109, that left 
half-told: Chaucer, who did not finish his Squire's Tale. 
L. 116, if aught else: perhaps referring to Spenser's 
Faery Queen. L. 124, the Attic Boy: Cephalus, who was 
beloved of Eos, the Dawn. L. 130, minute drops: drops 
falling at short intervals. L. 139, close: secret. L. 148, 
ivave at, etc. : let some mysterious dream come floating 
or waving near Sleep's wings, in an airy stream of im- 
aginative imagery, which gently falls on my eyes. L. 
170, sj^fcll: stndy closely. 

The tone of both these poems is quiet and meditative. 
The Cheerful Man sees the brighter aspects of nature 
and life; the Pensive Man, the more serious aspects — 
that is about all the difference. The Cheerful ]\Ian is 
not frivolous, nor the Pensive Man gloomy and melan- 
choly: they merely emphasize different pleasures. The 
metre is the same in both : the lines are pentameter ; and 
the feet are sometimes iambic, sometimes trochaic. Per- 
haps it is best to regard the movement as iambic and 
to consider the lines that begin with an accent merely 
as iambic lines hicldng the unaccented syllable of the 
first foot. Both poems have a brisk movement, which 
is more pronounced in the first than in the second. The 
poet has shifted his accents artfully, thus preventing 
the monotony so frequent in tetrameter verse in couplets. 
Alliteration, assonance, onomatopoeic effects, exquisite 
and picturesque phraseology, figures of speech — these 
are some of the characteristics of the language. The 
diction is unusually rich— so rich that the student shouhl 
study the words very carefully in order to extract the 
full meaning and suggestiveness. 

The sentences are often long and involved and the 
meaning obscure. In your rondinir. strive for clearness, 



492 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

adequate expression of the ' ' concentrated ' ' diction, grace 
and lightness, and rhythm. Allow your voice to follow 
the natural emphasis, so that your reading will not be 
monotonous. Observe the onomatopoeic effects, and ex- 
press them vividly. 

146 

Supposed to be sung by the Puritan refugees, who 
fled from England during the reign of Charles I to 
escape Archbishop Laud's persecutions (^'prelate's 
rage'''). The poet is more interested, however, in set- 
ting forth the blessings of the exiles than in expounding 
political or religious ideas. The mood is cheerful, as in 
''L 'Allegro" — that is, mildly cheerful, not gay and 
sprightly : the exiles sing a ' ' holy and a cheerful note. ' ' 
In mood, movement, even in phraseology, the po^n re- 
sembles the two of Milton just studied. 

apples: pineapples. The plant bears only one fruit. 
proclaim: reveal, throw up. of wJiich ive rather hoast, 
etc. : we rather boast of the gospel pearl than of the 
costly ambergris. 

Read rhythmically and with restrained enthusiasm. 

147 

Milton was very fond of music. Here he represents 
himself as listening to a choir singing solemn, sacred 
music. In imagination he hears the music of the angels, 
and he wishes that mortals could hear that music, as they 
did before sin came into the world. It is a beautiful 
poem, as solemn and melodious as the music that forms 
the theme. 

pledges: offspring, sphere-horn: born of the music 
of the spheres, sense: sensations, phantasy: imagina- 



NOTES 493 

tion. concert: harmony, saintly shout and solemn 
jubilee: splendid oxymorons, disproportion' d: misshapen, 

ugly. 

This lyric is almost a chant. Only broad, sonorous 
tones are employed, and the movement is swelling and 
majestic. Read in a deep, solemn tone, rather rhythmic- 
ally, yet slowly and majestically. The undertone of 
some lyrics resembles the liquid notes of a flute ; others, 
the blare of a trumpet; the undertone of this lyric is 
the fulP, deep, sustained music of a pipe organ. 

151 

This, like No. 86, was written in honor of St. Cecilia's 
Day. The theme is the same : the power of music to 
raise the different emotions. In this poem the theme is 
developed by showing the effect on Alexander the Great 
of the music of Timotl:^us, a distinguistied musician of 
Thebes. The first stanza reveals the situation; the 
second introduces the musician and his prelude, which 
is in honor of Jove, whom Alexander claims as his 
father; the third is in praise of wine; the fourth is a 
dirge for Darius, in order to che^k Alexander's pride, 
raised by the preceding strain ; the fifth is in honor of 
love ; the sixth is a call to battle and vengeance, so com- 
pelling that it breaks up the banquet and sends the 
ban(|ueters out to burn the residences and temples of 
the Persians. The final stanza summarizes, and com- 
pares Timotheus with his flute and lyre to Cecilia with 
her organ. 

St. 2, a dragon's fiery form, etc. : Jove took the form 
of a serpent to gain access to Olympia, mother of Alex- 
ander, radiant spires: glittering coils, a present deity: 
a god is here, said in flattery of Alexander, assumes 



494 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

the god: pretends to be a god. St. 3, honest: handsome. 
St. 4, the master: Timotheus. he, 1. 6, refers to Alex- 
ander, his hand: Timotheus'. his iwide: Alexander's. 
St. 5, love was in the next degree: Alexander had been 
feeling pity ; now he is to feel love, which is akin to pity. 
the fair: the fair one, Thais, the celebrated Greek beauty, 
who accompanied Alexander on his Asiatic expedition. 
St. 6, the Furies: the avenging deities, who had snakes,- 
twined in their hair, unhuried: an unl^uried body was 
thought to be dishonored, like another Helen, etc.: re- 
ferring to the destruction of Troy by Helen. The de- 
struction of Persepolis by Alexander at the request of 
Thais is told by Plutarch. St. 7, added length to solemn 
sounds: the organ made long, sustained musical notes 
possible, he raised a mortal, etc. : Timotheus made a god 
of Alexander ; Cecilia, so the legend runs, drew an angel 
down from heaven to listen to her music. 

The repetitions, the irregularity in metre, in line 
length, in stanza length, and in rhyme plan, all suggest 
that the poem is for music. The suggestions of the dif- 
ferent kinds of music are not so distinct as to be imi- 
tative, as in Dry den's other song on the subject. The 
rollicking drinking song in stanza 3 ; the soft, pretty love 
song in stanza 5, with its liquid sounds and musical 
feminine rhymes ; and the harsh battle cry in stanza 6 — 
all are splendid examples of onomatopoeia. In reading, 
modulate your voice to express the different moods. 
IMost of the poem is to be recited, rather than read — 
that is, it should be higher or lower, softer or stronger, 
than the speaking voice. Read the stanzas over and over 
until you have trained your voice to bring out the vary- 
ing emotions. 



NOTES 495 

BOOK THREE 

152 

It is a morning in April. All nature rejoices in the 
spring, forgetting the hardships of winter. But man, 
having the power to look back to the past and look 
forward to the future, obtains a keen pleasure from the 
contrasts, and even in sorrow can rejoice through mem- 
ory or hope. 

This lyric, like most of Gray's poetry, is filled with 
subdued emotion and characterized by careful finish. 
You must read the poem closely and reflectively, ob- 
serving the exquisite phrases, visualizing the sepia- 
tinted pictures, and listenuig to the soft, liquid measures 
of the music. 

St. 2, his: the antecedent is "April". St. 3, sullen 
year: winter, forward and reverted eyes: eyes that look 
both forward and backward. St. 4, deepest shades, etc. : 
the object of ''gilds", the subject of ''gilds" being 
"hope". St. 5, vieiv: imperative mood, like "see". 
chastised: chastened, softened. Mended, form, etc. : 
when they are blended with skilful contrast, they form 
the strength and harmony of life. 

The poem was not finished, which accounts for the 
abrupt conclusion. 

Observe the unusually pretty notes, and examine a 
stanza or two to see how carefully Gray has chosen his 
words. Notice the "o's" in the first line of the first 
stanza; the alliteration of "w" in the second, third and 
fourth lines; the "a's" in the fifth line; the alliteration 
of "lightly" and "living" in the seventh line; the "e's" 
in the last line. Notice that the first two lines of each 
stanza begin with the accented syllable, thus giving a 



496 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

trochaic impetus to the line ; notice that the third line 
is short, somewhat checking the movement. 

Read quietly and rhythmically, and put all the music 
into your voice that you can. Emphasize the contrasts. 

153 

The title is somewhat misleading. Collins means 
sincerity, rather than verbal simplicity. As a matter of 
fact, his language is anything but simple, as this poem 
will show. His ode is in praise of genuine, sincere, and 
natural emotion as expressed in poetry. 

The poem has a definite outline. The first two stanzas 
are an invocation to Simplicity. The next three con- 
tinue the invocation by calling to witness certain favorite 
objects and scenes of poetic Simplicity. Stanzas six and 
seven state that Simplicity has left Rome and has now 
no abiding place. The last two stanzas bring out the 
idea that though taste and genius are desirable, Sim- 
plicity is indispensable, and it is Simplicity that the 
poet seeks. 

St. 1, numbers: verses, who first, etc. : who first 
nursed the powers of song in Imagination, loveliest 
child, either thy babe or Pleasure's. St. 2, trailing pall: 
the long garment worn by Grecian tragic actors, decent: 
becomingly dressed. St. 3, Eyhla's thymy shore: a 
mountain in Greece noted for its thyme, which attracted 
the bees. This part of Greece was the home of pastoral 
poetry, which makes Collins' mention of it appropriate. 
he4\ the nightingale, a favorite bird of Sophocles, "sad 
Electra's poet." St. 4, Cephisus: a river near Athens, 
here referred to as a stream frequented by Simplicity. 
enamelled: covered with flowers, when holy Freedom 
died, etc. : when Freedom died in Greece, no other spot 
allured thy feet to roam in future times. St. 6. one 



NOTES 



497 



distinguished throne: the throne of Augustus, whose 
reign was the golden age of Latin literature. St. 7, the 
Passions: the emotions of poetry. Collins here refers 
to the love poetry of Italy. ''Italy" is the antecedent 
of ''her." St. 8, tvhat each, etc.: what each gift of 
genius can furnish, what all such gifts can furnish, may 
charm the eye, but only thou, Simplicity canst raise the 
soul, the soul which rises to meet thee. St. 9, of these: 
taste, genius. 

The predominant characteristics of this poem are 
melody, a wealth of beautiful images expressed in well- 
chosen phrases, dignity, and high seriousness. It is very 
beautiful music: read over some of the most melodious 
lines and listen to the pleasant murmur. Observe the 
metrical scheme: the two short lines followed by a long 
one, which makes a constant rise and fall in the move- 
ment. The clauses end on the long lines. Observe that 
the sentences sometimes extend from stanza to stanza. 

Read quietly, clearly, and simply. Endeavor to bring 
out the involved meaning and to make the whole poem 
musical. 

156 

A mock-heroic poem. A favorite cat of Horace Wal- 
pole's, a friend of Gray, had been drowned in a tub of 
gold-fishes. Gray treats the affair as of great importance 
and lavishes poetic and conventional ideas upon it, only 
occasionally revealing the smile on his face by adding 
a burlesque touch. 

St. 2, conscious: sympathetic — here used humorously 
to signify that the tail shares the cat's emotions. St. 3, 
had she gazed: would she have gazed. Genii: guardian 
spirits, here referring to the gold-fishes. St. 4, Nymph: 
here used for the cat. It is in using such poetic terms 
for commonplace ideas that Gray's nonsense is at its 



498 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

best. St. 6, eight times: because, of course, a cat has nine 
lives. 

The mock-heroic conception is fundamental in this 
poem. In addition to the passages pointed out, notice: 
^'She purred applause" ; the sudden descent to matter- 
of-fact in the line, "What cat's averse to fish?"; the 
ridiculous idea of the cat mewing 'Ho every watery 
God"; the mixture of the Dolphins and Nereid with 
the hired man and the chambermaid ; the pretended 
seriousness of the moral in the line, ''A favorite has 
no friend", and in the last stanza. 

You cannot read this poem well unless you catch the 
mood of the poet. Read very seriously and solemnly 
and pompously until you come to the passages where the 
poet is unable to hold in any longer and reveals his 
humorous attitude; then make a sudden change to the 
dry, prosaic, matter-of-fact tone. IMake your reading a 
mingling of pathos and bathos. It is a delightful poem 
when w^ell read. 

157 

A pretty, delicate little lyric, addressed to a small 
girl. Observe the gay, dancing movement, wdiich exactly 
fits the theme and the mood. The short lines rhyming 
in couplets, a detail being added in almost every line, 
the spontaneous tripping of the verses — all this makes 
the poem graceful. Observe that the last two lines are 
in a different metre, as if added in a more sober, re- 
flective tone. 

timely: early, yet, line 13, means "as yet", with the 
thought of the difference when the child is grown. 

Read gayly, rhythmically. Read the last two lines 
more seriously. 



NOTES 499 

159 

This poem is based on a tradition that Edward the 
First dnring his conquest of Wales had all the Welsh 
poets slain to prevent their stirring up the people. As 
the King and his army are marching though a narrow 
pass in Wales, an aged poet appears on an overhanging 
promontory and pronounces woe on the royal house and 
foretells the future ; then leaps from the rock. The poem 
is difficult to understand ; but after the language is un- 
ravelled and the allusions mastered, the poem stands 
out as one of the most striking and imaginative odes in 
the language. 

St. 1, Camhria: Wales. St. 2, vocal: resounding. IIocl 
and Llewellyn: Cadicallo, JJrien, Modred, noted Welsh 
bards. These were all much earlier than the time of 
Edward, but the bard in the poem speaks of them as 
contemporaries. St. 3, / see them sit: in imagination the 
bard sees his companions sitting on a nearby cliff, from 
which they join with him in his poetic prophecy- 
stanzas 4, 5, 6, and part of 7. This song and prophecy 
is spoken of as "w-oven". St. 4, characters: figures, 
marks, letters, when Severn, etc.: a reference to the 
murder of Edward the Second in Berkley Castle. She- 
wolf of France: Isabel of France, wdfe of Edward the 
Second, from thee he horn, etc.: from thee (Isabel), be 
born the one who is to be the scourge of heaven, Edward 
the Third. The following lines refer to his conquests. 
St. 5, tJie sahlc warrior: Edward, the Black Prince. He 
died before his father, the rising morn: Edward the 
Second. The following lines describe the luxury and 
magnificence of his reign, and his death by starvation. 
St. 6, long years of havock: the Civil wars of the Roses. 
kindred squadrons: Englishmen against Englishmen. 



500 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

ye towers of Julius: part of the Tower of London was 
supposed to have been built by Julius Caesar. London^ s 
lasting shame: because so many kings and princes were 
murdered there, his consort's faith: the steadfastness 
of Margaret, wife of Henry the Sixth, the ''meek 
usurper." Margaret tried to save him from death, his 
father's fame: fame of Henry Fifth, the rose of snow, 
etc. : referring to the Wars of the Roses, ive spread: on the 
loom. The bards are tveaving their prophecy, bristled 
hoar: the silver boar was the emblem of Richard the 
Third, in infamt goi^: referring to the murder of the 
two young princes by Richard. St. 7, half of thy heart: 
thy wife. Eleanor, wife of Edward the First died 
shortly after the conquest of Wales. Stay, oh stay: 
here the ghostly bards fmish their prophecy, leaving the 
one bard alone. But oh! tvJiat solemn scenes, etc.: the 
bard now sees a vision of England's ''genuine kings." 
long-lost Arthur: The Welsh believed that King Arthur 
would return to rule England. St. 8, a form divine: 
Elizabeth. She was descended from the Welsh, strings 
symphonious: referring to the poetry of Elizabethan 
times. Talicssin: a noted Welsh poet. St. 9, fierce ivar, 
etc. : a reference to Spenser, whose ' ' Faery Queen ' ' 
treats of "Fierce wars and faithful loves." truth severe, 
etc. : referring to the moral truths in the allegory of -the 
/'Faery Queen." husJdned measures: the plays of 
Shakespeare, a voice as of the chcruh-choir: Milton. 
distant tvarhlings: the lesser poets after Milton. 

It will aid to the understanding of this difficult poem 
if you know its structure. It is a Pindaric ode. The 
first and second stanza are composed of 14 lines each, the 
third of 20 lines; the fourth and fifth of 14 each, the 
sixth of 20 ; the seventh and eighth of 14 lines each, the 



NOTES 501 

ninth of 20. The stanzas that have the same number of 
lines have the same rhyme-plan. It is a very compli- 
cated metrical plan: Gray's careful art is very evident. 

The poem should be studied closely many times be- 
fore it can be fully appreciated. It is full of verbal 
beauties, and the perfection of form and finish make it 
a masterpiece. The language is lofty, picturesque, and 
musical. 

Read throughout in a strong, resonant tone. Make the 
prophecy of the bards especially strong and majestic ; 
parts of it should be almost chanted. 

162 

This ballad was published anonymously, and for a 
time it passed as one of the old ^'popular" ballads, just 
discovered. It has a good many of the qualities of the 
old ballads: simplicity, sincerity, pathos, and sympathy 
with common life. This is partly due to the fact that the 
author wrote but few poems and was deeply versed in the 
old ballads. 

The battle of Flodden Field was fought in 1513. The 
Scotch were defeated, the Scotch king and many of his 
nobles killed. The poem, however, is a lament for the 
common soldiers. 

St. 1, loaning: a lane between fields of grain, ivede 
away: vanished. The suggestion is of flowers pulled up 
like weeds. St. 2, ~buglits: sheepfolds. scorning: joking. 
dowie: dreary, daffin': jesting, gahhiu': scoffing, leg- 
lin: milk-pail. St. 3, liar^st: harvest, handsters: sheaf- 
binders, lyart: grizzled. runJded: wrinkled. Heecliing: 
teasing. St. 4, hogle: ghost. St. 5, dool: woe. 

The ballad is very musical. Observe the frequent 
alliteration, the internal rhyme and assonance, and the 
many broad vowels. The internal rhyme is feminine. 



502 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

which gives an additional note of music. The metre is 
anapestic, but trochees and iambs usually begin the lines. 
The variations assist in creating the impres:^ion of 
spontaneity, and break up the monotony of the move- 
ment. The refrain and the repetition of the idea of the 
first stanza serve to fix the leading idea. 

The point of view is that of a Scotch w^oman lament- 
ing the death of the Scotch youths. The emphasis is 
kept upon the feeling of the Scotch maidens. 

Eead with a sense of the situation : with deep sym- 
pathy and simple sincerity. The graceful music seems 
to add a touch of poignancy to the poem; read music- 
ally. In the middle of the first and third lines of each 
stanza a caesura occurs: make a slight pause here; but 
keep the tempo rather strict throughout. 

165 

The naked simplicity of this lyric has often been ad- 
mired. Without employing many of the usual arts of 
the poet, using the simplest, most prosaic diction, 
Cowper has created a poem of great force and dignity, 
with a sombre, yet martial music. 

The "Eoyal George" sank in Portsmouth harbor. The 
vessel had been injured slightly, so that it was neces- 
sary to lay her a little on her side. While the repairing 
was going on, Admiral Kempenfeldt was writing in his 
cabin. The carpenters keeled the vessel too far over, 
a land-breeze struck her, and she went down almost 
instantly, drowning the Admiral and about a thousand 
persons, including visitors and sailors. 

Read simply and earnestly. Read rhythmically, but 
do not allow the feeling for rhythm to compel you to 
phrase incorrectly. Stress the strong words. 



NOTES 503 

169 

Tliis poem reminds one of some of those in the second 
book. The poet desires to win his mistress' love and is 
willing to do anything to please her. The first and third 
stanzas are martial, the second courtly, the whole poem 
gallant and chivalric. 

troiv me: believe, hut if fond love, etc.: if love can 
win you, I can truly say that I have never loved any 
but you, that I have never broken a vow, and that no 
maiden owes her ruin to me. ride the ring: referring to 
the old sport of riding at full speed under a suspended 
ring and catching it on the point of a lance, the blue: 
the color of Scotland. 

Read earnestly, simply, and rhythmically. Eead the 
more martial lines with vigor and determination. In- 
sert the refrain in the second stanza, and read the re- 
frain each time musically and sincerely. 

170 

A very musical little lyric. The central idea is the 
similarity between the maiden and a pure stream of 
water, and this idea is carried throughout gracefully 
and prettily. Notice the exceedingly soft, musical 
sounds of both vowels and consonants. 

Read simply and musically. If you utter a harsh 
sound, you have not read the poem as it deserves. Per- 
haps the voice should be pitched lower than usual. 

173 

The central idea of this poem is: As the merchant, 
sending a valuable cargo, puts a false label on it that 
it may go the more safely, so I profess love to Euphelia, 
that I may make love to the modest Cloe. In the last 



504 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

stanza the trick is discovered, and Venus remarks to the 
cupids that the three are at last revealing their feelings. 
It is a fanciful, graceful little poem, half-playful, half- 
serious. When well read, it is delicately musical. In 
your reading bring out the contrasting ideas: the pre- 
tended love to Euphelia, the true love to Cloe. 

174 

It is difficult to interpret Blake's poems. They are 
so gauze-like that any handling tears the delicate fabric. 
The main thought of this poem is that love should not 
be told, that it, like the wind, should move silently, in- 
visibly. The poet told his mistress all his love, and in 
fear she left him. Soon afterward another, a mere casual 
acquaintance, took her by merely sighing out his love. 
Or, perhaps the ''traveller" is Death. 

The metre is simple and not strictly regular. If you 
read well, you will feel a vague, indefinable charm and 
hear a sweet, plaintive music. 

176 

One of the most beautiful of all Burns ' beautiful songs. 
A Scotch girl, deceived and deserted, visits the banks 
and braes of the Boon river, where she had met her 
lover. The gladness of nature appeals to her as cruel. 
The bird singing so happily reminds her of her former 
joy. She remembers the occasion when she pulled a rose 
from a bush : in that, too, she sees a symbol of her life. 

Feel the deep pathos of the situation, let your im- 
agination reconstruct the story and enter into the 
maiden 's emotions ; then read simply, mournfully, music- 
ally. A touch of reproach should come into the voice 



NOTES 



505 



in the expression of the thought that the flowers and 
birds are unsympathetic. 

177 

In this ode Gray gives a poetic description and his- 
tory of poetry. The ode bears the impress of careful 
and studious workmanship. It is structurally perfect, 
and the details are perfectly finished and fitted into the 
general plan. Gray's love of poetry, his admiration of 
the Pindaric ode, his habit of working for a long time, 
polishing and improving, his taste in the use of words, 
his power to paint graphic pictures with few words, and 
his keen ear for the melodies of tone-combinations — all 
this makes the ode one of the choicest productions of 
its kind in the language. 

The poem has three sections, three stanzas making up 
a section. The first two stanzas of each section contain 
twelve lines each, the third stanza, seventeen. The 
rhyme scheme is the same for the first two stanzas of the 
sections, and a different rhyme scheme is employed for 
the third stanza of each section. All the stanzas are 
elaborate in metre. 

The first section is a general description of the power 
of poetry, especially of lyric poetry. The first stanza 
draws a comparison between poetry and a stream ; the 
second speaks of the power of poetry to calm the pas- 
sions, even of the gods ; the third stanza speaks of the 
power of poetry to inspire joy and gayety. The second 
section treats of the strength and universality of the 
power of poetry. The fourth stanza discusses the power of 
poetry to dispel the sorrows of mankind ; the fifth stanza 
develops the thought that the influence of poetry is felt 
in both the frigid and torrid climes. The sixth stanza 



506 THE UOLDEN TREASURY 

speaks of poetry in Greece, of its departure from Greece, 
then from Italy, finally its arrival in England. The 
third section treats of certain great English poets. 
Shakespeare is the theme of stanza 7 ; Milton and Dry- 
den, of stanza 8 ; Mason and Gray himself of stanza 9. 

St. 1, Aeolian lyre: Pindar calls his poetry ''Aeolian" 
songs. The Greeks called lyric poetry Aeolian because 
two of their greatest lyric poets lived in Aeolia. Helicon's 
harmonious springs: Helicon is a mountain range in 
Greece. Two springs came down from it. The region 
was sacred to the Muses. St. 2, icilling soul: the soul 
that submits to thy rule, enchanting shell: the lyre. 
Here, as elsewhere. Gray speaks of lyric poetry as 
identical with music, feathered king: the eagle, emblem 
of Jove. St. 3, tempered: attuned, suhlime: uplifted. 
St. 4, gives to range: allows to wander freely over. 
Hyperion: the sun. St. 5, shaggy forms: polar bears. 
laid: a participle modifying "Muse." repeat: sing 
verses to. loose numbers: spontaneous, irregular verses. 
generous Shame: the feeling of mortification that comes 
when one falls short of an ideal. St. 6, Delphi, etc. : the 
names in this stanza are names of places in Greece noted 
for some connection with Greek literature. Albion: 
England. St. 7, thy: Poetry's. Nature's darling: 
Shakespeare, whom Gray calls Nature's favorite child 
because he was taught by Nature rather than in schools. 
tchat time: when. St. 8, Extasy: inspiration, he passed, 
etc.: referring to Milton's "Paradise Lost," wherein 
Milton describes heaven and hell, blasted with excess of 
light: a beautiful allusion to Milton's blindness, two 
coursers: referring to the heroic couplet. "Coursers" 
is the subject of "bear"; "car" is the object. St. 9, 
his hands: this probably refers to Gray's friend. Mason, 
whose poetry Gray much admired, tvhat daring spirit: 



NOTES 507 

referring to Gray himself, as does the remainder of the 
stanza. Thehan eagle: Pindar, orient hues, etc.: colors 
as bright as those of the rising snn, but not of the sun 
because they are imaginative, divine, vulgar: common, 
usual. 

There is so much to admire in this ode that it is not 
possible to do justice to it in a few words. You must 
read and read and re-read the poem, carefully and lov- 
ingly. Among the beautiful passages in the ode ma}^ be 
mentioned the metaphor in the first stanza, the gay, 
sprightly music of the first part of the third stanza, 
modulating to a graceful, stately measure in the last 
part of the stanza; the striking characterizations of 
Shakespeare, Milton, and Dryden in the seventh and 
eighth stanzas ; the majestic alexandrines that close each 
stanza; the delightful alliteration and rich assonances 
throughout the poem. 

Gray has succeeded admirably in adapting the music 
to the varying ideas. The tones are light and airy or 
full and sonorous, as the thought is light or majestic ; 
the movement is accelerated or retarded, as the theme 
suggests. In your reading strive to bring out the dif- 
ferent tones and movements. In some places you should 
almost sing; in some places the rhythm should be very 
pronounced; in others, you should linger over the ex- 
pressive, musical phrases. Read the last line of each 
stanza with force and majesty. 

178 
This ode suggests the two St. Cecilia odes by Dryden 
in the preceding book. Collins personifies the different 
Passions or Emotions, and has each of them try his own 
power of expression on Music's instruments. The first 
stanza introduces the theme, the last is an invitation to 



508 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

IMusic to return to man, the intervening stanzas are de- 
voted to the Emotions, as one by one they try their 
skill. 

St. 1, apart: singly. St. 3, owned: confessed. St. 5, 
lovely scenes at distance: because Hope looks to the 
future, close: end of a strain. St. 6, had she sung: 
would she have sung, tvar-denouncing : war-proclaiming. 
doubling: echoing. St. 8, diffusing: a participle modify- 
ing ''measures." "Calm", ''love", and "musing" are 
the objects of "diffusing." St. 9, oak-croivncd Sisters: 
the nymphs in the train of Diana. St. 10, Tempers 
vale: a valley in Greece. St. 11, mimic soid: soul that 
can recall and imitate. Recording Sister: Clio, the Muse 
of History, sister to Euterpe, Muse of Music, reed: 
musical pipe, e'en all at once, etc. : even when heard all 
at once as in organ music. 

The most noticeable characteristic of this lyric is the 
onomatopoeic effects. The first stanza and the last are 
in easy-flowing, simple tetrameter couplets; but the 
stanzas descriptive of the Passions are highly suggestive 
of the different strains of music evoked by the Passions. 
The metrical scheme in some of these stanzas is wild and 
irregular ; in others, simple and definite. The words are 
chosen partly for their sounds, and are combined in such 
a way that they represent the veering moods. 

Each stanza has its appropriate key. Read a stanza 
silently until you feel the emotion and discern the under- 
lying musical motive, then try to voice that emotion 
with fitting tones and rhythm. This is one of the poems 
that lends itself to recitation, but you should be careful 
not to let your reading be too dramatic and "elocu- 
tionary." If you succeed in suggesting clearly and 
musically the prevailing emotion, you have read well. 



NOTES 509 

180 

Perhaps it will help us to make the thought in this 
lyric more concrete if we think of Infant Joy as a young 
child, though perhaps Blake meant merely to personify 
new-born Joy. 

Observe the happy, graceful, delicate music, and the 
spontaneous rhythm. Read musically and softly. This 
is one of the songs that takes up lodgment in your mem- 
ory by the mere beauty and vague magic of the words. 

181 

Another lyric gem. Observe the beautiful rhyme- 
sounds, "e" and "T" predominating. Observe the 
liquid sounds throughout. Observe the alliteration and 
the assonance, which is often carried over from one line 
to the next. 

Read softly, tenderly, and musically. The last two 
lines of the poem are in a different key, expressing as 
they do a different emotion: sad realization that the 
child will some day experience the sorrows of life. 

184 

While out plowing, Burns turned up a field-mouse's 
nest. The incident led to a train of reflection, which 
ended in the composition of this well-known poem. Per- 
haps the most noteworthy feature of the lyric is the 
sympathy displayed for the little animal, and the com- 
parison drawn in the last two stanzas between the fate 
of the mouse and of the poet. 

St. 1, sleekit: sleek, hichering hrattle: hurrying con- 
fusion, laitli: loth, paitle: stick used to scrape the soil 
from the plough-share. St. 3, ivhiles: sometimes, a 
daimen-icker in a thrave: a small amount of grain from 



510 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

an entire shock. Pll get a blessing tvi' the lave: because 
I have been kind to you I will get a blessing with the 
remainder of the grain. St. 4, silly: weak, big: build. 
foggage: late grass, snell: sharp. St. 5, coulter: that 
part of the plough-share that is perpendicular to the 
point. St. 6, hut: without, hald: dwelling, thole: en- 
dure, cranreuch: frost. St. 7, thy lane: alone, gang aft 
agley: go often awry. 

This is a sincere expression of deep sympathy and 
kinship with the helpless creature. Remember that the 
poet is speaking to the mouse, and that his voice is kind 
and tender. Express the same feeling in your reading. 
Read the last two stanzas in a more reflective, sober 
tone, bringing out the strong contrast between the mouse 
and the man. Stress the word "men" in stanza seven. 

186 

One of the most charming of the meditative poems 
in the Golden Treasury. One sees the poet reclining on 
a mossy bank as evening draws on, and feels with him 
the quiet, subdued emotions called up by the twilight. 

Notice that the first five stanzas make up the first sen- 
tence. ''If aught, etc.," is the subordinate clause, ''now 
teach me, etc.," stanza four, the principal clause. St. 1, 
oaten stop: shepherd's pipe. St. 6, folding star: the 
evening star, so called because at this time the sheep are 
seeking their fold. St. 11, breathing: fragrant. St. 13, 
Fancy: Imagination. Science: knowledge. The person- 
ification of abstractions in this stanza has been often 
criticized. But the four abstractions are appropriately 
spoken of in connection with evening. 

The most peculiar feature of this lyric is that it is 
in un-rhymed verse. Many a person has read the poem 
entirely through without noticing this, so well has Col- 



NOTES 511 

• 
lins compensated for the absence of rhyme by the use 
of other qualities. Observe that almost every line ends 
with a strong word, usually a verb or a noun, and that 
it is usually a musical word. Observe that the stanzas 
run into each other, so that the impression is often that 
of blank verse. Observe also that the lack of rhyme is 
made up for by condensed thought, plentiful allitera- 
tion, and happy combinations of musical words. Very 
often a certain sound wull occur throughout an entire 
stanza, as ''o" and ''s" in the first stanza, "e", ''b" 
iud ''w" in the second stanza, the thin vowels and 'Vs" 
end ''b" in the third stanza, etc. The sound of "1" is 
prominent throughout. All this so fully satisfies the ear 
that the rhyme is not missed, i^nd the absence of 
jingling rhyme-sounds helps give the soft, solemn, sub- 
dued note that characterizes the lyric. All told, it is a 
masterly poetic feat. 

The key of the selection is pensivencss. It is like a 
painting by Corot. Or it is like an evening hymn on 
the organ. Read quietly, reflectively, bringing out dis- 
tinctly and musically the slight variations from the 
dominant key. 

187 

Perhaps the best known of Gray 's poems and the best 
known of the so-called ''graveyard" poems. Perhaps 
the popularity of the Elegy is due largely to the fact 
that it expresses in beautiful, striking, and permanent 
form the emotions common to all mankind. 

Like all of Gray's poems, the Elegy is a carefully fin- 
ished work. Nine years are said to have elapsed between 
the first conception of the poem and its publication. 
The ideas are, of course, beautifully phrased: there is 
not an empty line in it. The graveyard on which the 
poem is based is in Stoke Pogis, where Gray himself 



512 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

was later buried. The description given in the Elegy 
still fits the cemetery. 

St. 1, par ling: departing. St. 2, air: object of 
''holds", "stillness" being its subject. St. 6, ply her 
evening care: no definite picture is conjured up in the 
mind by these words. Perhaps they mean, preparing the 
evening meal. St. 9, awaits: the subject is "hour" — 
"boast", "pomp", etc., being the object. St. 10, ivJiere 
throngli, etc. : many of the upper classes were buried 
within the church, fretted: ornamented with narrow 
strips intersecting. St. 11, storied urn: a monument, or 
more likely, a tablet, containing an inscription concern- 
ing the dead, animated bust: statue so life-like that it 
seems alive, provoke: call forth. St. 12, rich ivith the 
spoils of time: the knowledge gained through all time. 
rage: inspiration, genial: cheerful and vigorous. St. 14, 
gem: object of "bear", "caves" being the subject. St. 
15, village-Hampden: some villager as strong and pa- 
triotic in his narrow sphere as Hampden was in his 
wider one. some mute Milton: some one endowed with 
Milton's genius, but with his talent undeveloped. Crom- 
well: some one that could have been as great as Cromwell 
but who would not have been, like Cromwell, guilty of his 
country's blood. St. 16, to command: depends upon 
"forbad", in the first line of the next stanza. St. 17, 
nor circumscribed , etc. : their lot not only circumscribed 
their virtues, it also circumscribed their crimes. St. 18, 
to hide: depends upon "forbad", third line of preced- 
ing stanza. The line seems to mean, to conceal and 
repress the struggles of truth of which they are con- 
scious, heap the shrine, etc. : referring to the degrada- 
tion of poetry in Gray's time. Poets often courted the 
rich and great and dedicated their poems to them with 
fulsome flattery. St. 19, madding: raging. St. 20, un- 



NOTES 513 

couth rhymes: referring to the fact that in the cemetery 
there are some grave-stones containing inscriptions writ- 
ten by rustic poets, some of the words being even mis- 
spelled. St. 22, for ivho, etc. : for who ever resigned this 
pleasing anxious being (life) to become a prey to 
forgetfulness, who ever left the warm region of life, 
without casting a look behind? St. 23, e'en in our ashes, 
etc.: even in the dead body exist the emotions of the 
living being — i. e., our bodies cry out to be remembered. 
St. 24, thee: Gray himself, chance: perchance. St. 28, 
another: another morning. St. 29, for thou canst read: 
implying that the "swain" cannot read. St. 30, science: 
knowledge, frowned not on: was not disdainful to him 
because of his humble birth. St. 31, a friend: perhaps 
referring to Horace Walpole, perhaps to Richard West, 
both of whom were friends of Gray. St. 32, dread abode: 
that is, the bosom of God. 

The spirit of this poem is much like that of the pre- 
ceding. It is, however, more sombre and melancholy. 
In your reading keep in mind the meditative, reflective 
nature of the poem. Read slowly and solemnly, linger- 
ing over the beautiful details and the musical sounds. 
You will have difficulty in making the meaning clear in 
some places. A few stanzas are grammatically connected 
with succeeding and preceding stanzas; these must be 
connected in the reading. Almost every stanza contains 
onomatopoeic effects. Notice, for example, the suggest- 
ive sounds in the second line of the first stanza : you can 
fairly feel the scene. Then observe the effect of the 
next line : the plodding movement is admirably sug- 
gested by the sounds and accents. Endeavor to bring 
out all these "echoes" in your reading. It is a poem 
that one can read hundreds of times without exhausting 
the charm. 



514 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

190 
One of Burns' perfect songs. It is hardly fair to 
call it a poem: it almost sings. There is a sincerity and 
simplicity, and a lyric limpidness difficult to match. Read 
earnestly and musically. Observe your reading care- 
fully, and if you detect a discordant sound, you may 
be sure you have not read the poem perfectly. 

192 

The simple pathos of this ballad is beyond praise. 
The story is told with consummate artistic restraint: no 
words are wasted, yet the whole situation is portrayed 
in such a fashion that it is unforgettable. The poet 
has increased the natural sadness in the story by having 
the heroine voice her own emotions, in a restrained, yet 
artless style. The irregularity of the metre, the remi- 
niscences of the old balhids, the little touches of nature 
— all contribute to the beauty of the poem. Observe 
how skilfully the situation is drawn in the first stanza, 
before the story is begun. Observe, too, how the story is 
interrupted now and then by an exclamation of sorrow. 

a week hut only twa: only two wrecks — an idiom com- 
mon in the old ballads. 

Read the poem silently until you feel the pathos, then 
read aloud, simply, naturally, musically. JMake the 
rhythm decided. You will notice that the prevailing 
metre is anapestic ; but some of the feet have only two 
syllables, while others have four. Read by accented 
w^ords, letting the unaccented syllables take care of 
themselves, as you do in all quantitative verse. Or, 
better yet, strive merely to stress the words that nat- 
urally deserve emphasis : in every case you will hit upon 
the right accent and preserve the swing of the movement. 
Bring out the alliteration. 



NOTES 515 

193 

A delightful contrast to the preceding. In a gay, 
rollicking measure it tells how Duncan Gray wooed 
IMaggie, how she flouted him, how he, resenting her treat- 
ment of him, forswore her, how she wished him back, 
and how he relented — and they lived happy ever after. 
The fun a,nd high spirits are thoroughly enjoyable. 

wooing oH: the wooing of it, the wooing, fou: gay 
with tippling, asklent: aslant, unco sh-cigh: very skit- 
tish, gart: made. St. 2, f.eechcd: coaxed. Ailsa Craig: 
an island in the Firth of Clyde, low pin oiuer a linn: 
leaping over a cliff. St. 3, sair to hide: hard to endure. 
St. 5, sriwored: smothered, crouse and canty haitli: both 
of them gay and jolly. 

Read with vigor and liveliness. Make your reading 
reflect the merry mood of the poet. A little pretended 
seriousness in a few places will increase the humor. 
Insert the refrain lines in all the stanzas. 

194 

The sailor's wife has just heard that her husband's 
ship has returned. In a flutter of delight, she prepares 
to receive him. It is a lively picture of a woman, full 
of touches of nature. 

St. 2, higonct: little cap. St. 4, tliraw: twist. St. 5, 
caller: fresh. 

Let your reading suggest the eagerness and joy of the 
speaker. Read with energy and decision, but change 
to a calmer, Cjuieter tone in the last two stanzas. Per- 
haps here we may imagine the wife speaking to herself. 

195 

An artistic, permanent expression of a fundamental 
emotion. Perhaps it seems easy to write such a simple 



516 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

little poem; but the fact that we fmd so few perfect 
ones proves how difficult it is. Study the first line. No- 
tice that the first three words are accented, suggesting 
weary reflection. Notice also the pretty assonance in 
the phrase, "happy days." In the third line, notice 
the alliteration of 'T' and the assonance in "what 
lands. ' ' In the first line of the second stanza, notice the 
broad, solemn vowels, the alliteration of "h", and the 
slowness of the movement. In the second line notice 
the heavy falling of the " w 's ". In the next line notice 
the rapid movement, the stress resting on but one word, 
"glinted", and that a very picturesque word. Observe 
the pretty sound of the rhyme-word. It is a wonderful 
bit of simple art. 

eerie: fearful, glinted: flashed. 

Read simply, sincerely, musically. 

197 

A theme not often used in poetry: the love of an old 
wife for her husband. In tenderness, in simplicity, and 
music, the song is a gem. The figure in the second stanza 
is beautiful and suggestive. 

jo: sweetheart, 'brent: straight, smooth. Burns ap- 
parently uses it as an antonym to "bald", poiv: head; 
a colloquial, intimate word, suggesting tenderness. 

Try to feel the tenderness of the words. Read simply, 
rhythmically. Stress the alliterated words. Bring out 
the contrasts. The first four lines of each stanza deal 
with youth, the last four with old age. 

199 

The ode is based on a distant view of Eton College. 

As the poet looks at the distant towers, he reflects upon 

his youth spent here and upon the present and future 

of those now in school. It is not so highly finished, and 



NOTES 517 

not so serious as many of Gray's poems: but the poet's 
heart is by no means gay, as he looks into the future and 
sees the ills awaiting the college boys. 

St. 1, Science: knowledge. Henry: Henry VI, founder 
of the college. St. 2, fields beloved in vai^: because 
Gray had no friend to share his pleasure in the scenes. 
The poem was written a short time after the death of 
the last of his intimate friends, to breathe a second 
spying: the sight takes the poet back to his boyhood. 
St. 3, the captive linnet, etc. : which ones catch the linnet 
and cage it? rolling circle: foot-ball. St. 4, 'gainst 
graver hours, etc. : in preparation for class room work. 
St. 5, buxom: lively, they are men: therefore subject 
to the common fate of men. St. 7, these: certain ones, 
object of the verb "tear." St. 8, this: this person. 
those: others. St. 9, painftd family: pain-inflicting min- 
isters of death, such as Labor, Poverty, Old Age, all that 
affect the body. 

Study carefully until you have mastered the intel- 
lectual details. The key-note of the poem is solemn 
melancholy, which changes in the third, fourth, and 
fifth stanzas to a decorous sprightliness. Keep the key- 
note in mind as you read, but depart from it as the, 
music modulates. The movement is regular — so regular 
that you will have to make an effort to avoid monotony. 
Bring out the effective combinations of words and the 
musical sounds. 

201 

A splendid lyric — splendid in phrasal power, in im- 
agery, in thought, in music. Its emotional plane is 
higher than most of Gray 's poems. Observe how Gray 's 
mind turns naturally to the graver, darker aspects of 
life. 

St. 2, birth: child. St. 5, thy suppliant: Gray himself. 



518 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

St. 6, thij form bcniijn: in contrast to the appearance of 
Adversity as descriljcd in the preceding stanza, philo- 
sophic train: contrasting with ''the vengeful band" in 
the preceding stanza. Gray seems to mean, the band of 
attendants that would teach him how to bear philosoph- 
ically the ills of life, generous spark ejctinct: dead 
friendship. Gray had recently quarreled with his friend 
Walpole. 

The Hymn is worth careful study and many readings 
Observe how Gray carries a certain sound throughout 
a stanza: as "p", "b", "t", in the first stanza. The 
Rounds seem to suggest the stern, "relentless power" of 
Adversity. Observe the solemn, majestic sound of the 
long line that ends each stanza. It seems to add weight 
and finality to the thought. Read carefully, deliber- 
ately, musically. The intellectual content is important : 
bring it out distinctl.y. Read the last two stanzas with 
earnest feeling. 

203 

A gracious, grateful, and eloquent sonnet. Cowper 
lived with the Unwins for many years, and he here and 
in the next poem records his love and gratitude to IMrs. 
Unwin. 

eloquence: object- of "want." I shed my wings: 1 
cease writing, the wings representing his inspiration. 
a Book: see Rev. 20, 12. 

Observe that the first eight lines develop one thought, 
the last six lines, another. Observe how naturally and 
easily the poet states his thought : he apparently writes 
without effort. It is one of those rare poems in which 
the thought and expression seem to have existed for- 
ever and to have been found by the lucky poet. 

Read simply, musically, earnestly. The poet feels 
every word he writes : give his feeling adequate expres- 



NOTKS 519 

sioii. Read hy ick'cis, not linos. Do not force the rhythm: 
read as the natnral emphasis of the ideas seems to 
demand. 

204 

One of the tenderest, most personal and pathetic lyrics 
in the langnage. Snrely it goes as far as speech can 
go in expressing love and gratitude. Cowper had suf- 
fered from an attack of melancholia twenty years before 
this, and was apprehensive of another. He sees his 
friend growing weaker, which he attributes to her 
r.nxiety and care for him. She died three years later. It 
is said that the poet Tennyson could never read this poem 
without tears. 

Read the poem silently until you feel the mood, then 
read aloud with simplicity, tenderness, and pathos. 
Vary the line, "My IMary" to fit the sentiment of the 
stanzas. The poem is worth committing to memory, both 
for its own sake and as a specimen of what simple words 
can do in revealing emotion. 

205 

The incident on which Covrper bases this poem is 
found in Anson's ''Vo.yage." One of the seamen was 
washed overboard in a storm. He swam for some time, 
])ut he could not be rescued in the storm. The poet here 
paints a vivid picture of the scene in all its pathetic 
details ; but in reality he is painting a picture of his own 
struggles. The third line of the first stanza suggests 
this, and the reader keeps it in mind until the ''sem- 
blance" is explicitly stated in the last stanza. 

The pathos and horror of the story is the more affect- 
ing because Cowper tells the story so simply and directly. 
A less judicious poet would have filled the story with 
lamentations and adorned it with figures of speech. 



520 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Cowper's restraint seems pitiless, but we see the unfor- 
tunate man struggling in the ocean and we feel his 
anguish and despair. 

Visualize the pictures clearly. Read with simplicity, 
directness. Read the last stanza in a more reflective 
and more gloomy tone, for here the thought is personal. 

206 

A pleasant contrast to the gloom of Cowper. The 
middle-aged man looks forward to Tomorrow and pic- 
tures such a life as he would like to live in old age. 
It is a group of pretty pictures. The movement is 
rapid and joyful, the feminine rhymes adding to the 
sprightliness. The recurrence of the ^ ' orrow "-sound 
falls pleasantly on the ear. 

pad-pony: easy-ambling pony. Everlasting: a sort of 
pun on eternity and a cloth called everlasting. 

Read rhythmically and brightly. The movement halts 
in the second line of the last stanza ; but elsewhere it 
moves along as smoothly as a ''pad-pony." Stress the 
alliterative words. Make the poem "carol away idle 
sorrow. ' ' 

BOOK IV 

209 

Keats had a high conception of the poet. Here he 
gives him a double immortality : in heaven, 11. 5-22 ; and 
on earth, 11. 23-26. Keats wrote this ode on a blank 
page in a copy of Beaumont & Fletcher's tragi-comedy, 
''The Fair Llaid of the Inn," which may account for 
his calling poets, "bards of Passion (suffering) and of 
Mirth.'' 

L. 5, those: the souls, commune: speak, sing — refer- 



NOTES 521 

ring to the music of the spheres, tented: resting under 
tents made by large bluebells, hanging down inverted 
almost to the ground, tranced tiling: music sung in a 
trance, or emotional ecstasy, where your other soids, 
etc. : in the place where, etc. 

The metre is tetrameter, with a trochaic swing; but a 
few lines have an extra syllable at the beginning, while 
others have an extra syllable at the end. Keats has 
shifted the pauses and accents so skilfully that the 
metre is flexible and spontaneous. 

Visualize the pictures, master the details, observe and 
admire the striking phraseology and the light, delicate 
music — then read, brightl^^, fluently. Keep the rhythm, 
but do not let the pull of the rhythm force you to stress 
an insignificant preposition or conjunction or to ignore 
a strong noun or adjective. Keep the movement in your 
mind, but feel free to depart from it at any time. In 
this way you will avoid the monotony with which this 
poem is often read. 

210 

Keats began reading Chapman's translation of Homer 
one evening at the house of a friend, and became so 
interested that he read all night. The next morning his 
friend found this beautiful appreciation written in a 
fly-leaf of the volume. 

Observe that in the octave Keats speaks of his pre- 
vious reading under the figure of traveling, western 
islands: referring to the poets of England, in fealty to 
Apollo: subject to the authority of Apollo, god of music 
and poetr3^ demesne: land held by a chief under a king, 
here Apollo, serene: bright, clear atmosphere. In the 
sestet Keats develops a new idea : that when he started 
to read Chapman's Homer he felt like an astronomer 
discovering a new star, or like Cortez (Keats meant 



522 'J^'HJ^ (GOLDEN TREASURY 

T>;ill)()a) wlieii he discovered the Pacifie. T]i()ii<]^h he 
writes only three lines, how grapliieally the poet paints 
til is discovery! 

Read with clearness, force, and dignity. There is a 
strong, vigorous music in the verses, w^hich you will bring 
out only by feeling the emotion and expressing it nat- 
urall}^ Try to express by your reading the awe and as- 
tonishment of Balboa and his men, as they gaze upon 
the Pacific. The poem is worth reading until it is com- 
mitted to memory. 

212 

A very simple, sincere, and musical l.yric. In the 
first two stanzas Byron contrasts the love of youth with 
the glory of old age. In the next two stanzas he develops 
the thought that glory is desirable only because it affects 
love. 

myrtle and ivy: emblems of youthful joy, contrasted 
with the laurels, emblems of victory, floircr with May- 
dew hcsprinlded: the dew of IMay was thought to have 
power to restore beauty. Here Byron speaks ironically 
of the belief, discover: reveal, there, 1. 13 : in his 
mistress' eyes. 

The metre is anapestic, with feminine endings. It is 
a quick, lively-stepping movement. Read gayly, rapidly, 
joyfully, and above all, rhythmically. Do not let the 
movement halt for an instant. 

213 

This poem is found in ''Rokeby," one of Scott's longer 
poems. It is sung by Edmund, one of a band of outlaws 
living in Greta woods. He belongs to a worthy famil.y, 
but has become a fugitive. Some time after he has 
taken up this life, he rides back toward his home. His 
former sweetheart sees him from Dalton-Hall, and, in 



NOTES 523 

i} song, expresses lier willingness to go with him. lie 
asks her to guess what manner of life he is leading. 
She first guesses that he is one of the king's forest- 
rangers, then that he is a soklier. At last he informs 
her that he is an outlaw. Apparently she does not follow 
him, though the thought of living with him in Greta 
wood still attracts her. 

St. 5, fiend whose lantern lights the mead: Will o' the 
Wisp. 

Fill in the details of the story until you feel that you 
know the entire situation. If you will read a part of 
*'Rokeby", you will understand better what kind of 
person Edmund is: begin with stanza 15 of the third 
canto. In your reading suggest the different speakers 
in the dialog, but do not try to imitate them. Bring 
out the story clearly. Read spiritedly and rhythmically, 
voicing the simple music. 

214 

A lyric of pure music, and, like music, it brings before 
the mind beautiful pictures. In order to see how mu- 
sical the words are try to replace the word ''be" in 
the first line, with "are". You would have the unpleas- 
ant combination "there are", and you would miss the 
alliteration of "be" and "Beauty's". Moreover, the 
use of the archaic form, "be", suggests tenderness and 
intimacy. Observe the soft, subdued sounds throughout 
the poem, especially in the rhyming words. There is 
not a harsh note in the lyric. The movement is graceful 
and flowing, suggesting "the swell of Summer's ocean." 
Observe the delicate music of the feminine rhymes. 

Read lightly, musically. The second and fourth lines 
of each stanza contain 1)ut two accents : let the move- 
ment be retarded here. 



524 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

216 

Another of Byron's exquisite lyrics. Pure, simple, 
earnest and musical — no one but a poet and a musician 
could have written it. 

all that's best of dark and light: referring to the 
darkness of the night and the light of the stars, had 
half impaired: would have half impaired. 

Read tenderly, clearly, musically. 

222 

This well-known poem is well called ''the education 
of Nature," for that is the central thought. Words- 
worth believed devoutly in the power of Nature to 
influence personality and conduct. Here he shows 
Nature actually at work. Observe the simplicity of the 
language and the depth of thought. 

St. 2, law and impidse: I, Nature, will teach Lucy 
obedience to the laws of Nature and yet will give her 
inspiration. St. 3, sportive as the fawn: she shall learn 
gayety from the fawn, hers shall he the breathing halm: 
she shall be disciplined to gravity and sweetness by the 
odor-breathing balm, the silence and the calm of inani- 
mate nature. St. 4, state: condition of stateliness, grace- 
fulness. This whole stanza tells how Lucy is to be made 
graceful through the influence of graceful objects in 
nature. St. 5, beauty horn of murmuring sound, etc. : 
the sound of the rivulets shall so impress her that her 
very expression shall be affected. 

In addition to the striking thought, the poem has 
beauty of phrase and melody. Wordsworth's power to 
express his ideas — vague and unusual as they are to 
most of us — in striking and rememberable phrase is evi- 
dent when we try to paraphrase his language. There 
are several very effective combinations of words in this 



NOTES 525 

poem. Observe the alliteration and the assonance. Ob- 
serve that the third and sixth lines of each stanza are 
shorter than the others, serving to give variety and to 
check the movement for a moment before another idea 
is taken up. There are some onomatopoeic effects, not- 
ably in the latter part of the fifth stanza. 

Read to make the ideas clear and musical. Observe 
that the clauses often end within the lines and that the 
meaning runs over from one line to another. Read, then, 
by ideas, not lines. Let the rhythm take care of itself, 
you being careful merely to phrase in such a way as to 
bring out the meaning. Tenderness and love should be 
expressed in every line. Bring out the deep, yet 
restrained grief of the last stanza. 

223 

A dirge, but so repressed and restrained that the 
reader needs to use all his imaginative power to feel 
the poet's grief. The first stanza expresses a common 
human intuition : that a loved one is secure against 
death. This sense of false security Wordsworth speaks 
of as slumber that sealed his spirit. The second stanza 
draws the contrast, now that the loved one is dead: she 
has lost all personality, is rolled round in the whirling 
earth, like all inanimate things. 

Read simply, musically, tenderly, mournfully. The 
poet does not think of denying the immortality of the 
soul: he is merely intent on the contrast between the 
life and the death of the body. 

226 
This poem is founded on a real incident. Like the 
preceding poem, it is more narrative than lyric. One 
phase of Wordsworth's poetry is seen at its best here: 



526 'i^ilJ' (;OLDJ]N TKI^A.SLKV 

the simple, unadorned treatment of a theme. It has few 
of the qualities we usually associate with poetic Ian- 
gauge ; yet in its simplicity and baldness of diction, it is 
one of the most affecting poems in the Golden Treasury. 
It disdains the "wealth of art," but it has all the :^rce 
of artlessness. 

The first three stanzas introduce the chief character, 
tlie third setting forth the tlieme and preparing tb.e 
reader for what is to follow. With the fourth stanza 
Ave start directly into the story. The last two stanz^is 
form the conclusion, stating the fact that Lucy is not 
really dead. The story itself is told only in part; the 
imagination has to supply the details. 

Read simply. Occasionally the voice should take a 
sombre note to bring out some pathetic detail ; but you 
should follow Wordsworth in his desire to let the sad- 
ness of the story go home by its own force, rather than 
by forcing it by rhetoric and elocution. It is really a 
very difficult poem to read well, for all it seems so easy. 

227 
In this lyric, as in many of Scott's, a story is sug- 
gested. The "ladie" sits weeping, looking across the 
sea. Her lover, Jock of Hazeldean, has been gone for 
some time. As she sits watching for his return, she is 
approached by the father of Frank, lord of Langley- 
dale. He wishes her to marry Frank, but slie remains 
true to Jock. Perhaps it is her own father that re- 
proaches her in the second stanza, and Frank who 
pleads with her in the third; or perhaps it is Frank's 
father speaking to her throughout. At any rate, slu^ 
at last gives in, and the wedding day is fixed. But on 
the night before the wedding Jock suddenly returns, 
and she flees with him over the border. 



NOTES 527 

Tlie pooni is full of spirited music. The refrain lines 
are pretty and eft'eetive. Read to bring out the entire 
story and to express the music of the verse. Suggest 
the different speakers, making a decided pause after 
their words before speaking the refrain. A decided 
pause should also come after the third stanza. Bring 
out the surprise in the last stanza, especially in the 
last two lines. 

229 

The thought in this pretty lyric is slight, but the music 
is wonderfully sweet. The first stanza speaks of the 
natural echo ; the second, of the echo of love ; the third, 
explains this echo. Observe the onomatopoeic effect of 
the movement : the second line seems to echo the first ; 
the last line echoes the third and fourth. Observe how 
beautiful these last lines are. Observe, too, the asso- 
nances throughout. In the first line of the first stanza, 
you hear a similar sound in '^answer" and ''makes." 
The ''m" of "makes" is echoed in ''Music" in the 
second line. Observe the "a's" in the fourth line, and 
the alliteration of "1". The fifth line repeats the "a" 
in "answering" and the "1" in "light." Soft, musical 
consonants and vowels are used throughout the stanza. 

In reading let your first thought be on the music. It 
should be soft and liquid, and it should suggest the echo- 
motive that is the basis of the poem. The climax should 
be at the end of the third line ; from that one to the end 
of the stanza the voice should be fainter and fainter until 
it is barely audible. 

232 

It is difficult to find words to discuss this exquisite 
lyric. The only way to enjoy it to its full is to read it 
over and over, enjoying the beautiful, soft-tinted pic- 



528 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

tures and the dreamy music. To Shelley, Night is not 
a personified abstraction, but a real person, with appro- 
priate garment, appearance, and attributes, so that the 
pictures, though shadowy, may easily be discerned with 
the eye of the imagination. 

Observe the frequent alliteration and assonance, some- 
times so indistinct as to be scarcely audible, sometimes 
so plainly heard as to color an entire passage. Observe 
the use of ''i" in ''swiftly", first line; in "spirit", sec- 
ond line ; in ' ' misty ' ', in the third ; then down in the 
last lines of the stanza, so far away that the ear can 
scarcely catch the similarity of sound, the vowel is 
repeated in ' ' which ' ' and ' ' swift. ' ' Take a more obvious 
example: In the first line the ''1" of ''swiftly" is 
repeated in "walk"; the "s" and "t" in "swiftly" is 
heard later in "western"; the "f" in "swiftly" is 
hinted at in the "v" in "over" and "wave"; the "w" 
of "swiftly" is heard again in "walk", "western", and 
"wave"; the "a" in "walk" is repeated in "wave", 
the assonance being the stronger because the words are 
both monosyllables. The poem is full of such complex 
musical effects. 

Not less remarkable is the movement. The second and 
seventh lines have but two accents, the others four. 
The short lines are all full of meaning, and compel the 
voice to pause over them; and the' phrase ends with the 
end of these short lines. The general movement, then, 
is of a long, majestic line, suddenly checked by a shorter 
one ; then four long, full, rich lines coming to a climax 
of thought and movement in a short, strong line. It is 
wonderfully effective. The metre is irregular in that 
it is difficult to scan. But in its flexibility and variety, 
its sudden bursts of speed and heavy spondees, it is as 



NOTES 529 

rhythmic, as gracefully flowing as almost any lyric in 
this book. 

Read and re-read until you have visualized all the 
images, and until you have caught something of the 
haunting, mysterious charm of the pictures and music. 
Read, for the most part, slowly and deliberately, as if 
lingering over the musical sounds, and make your voice 
as soft and melodious as possible. Read to bring out 
the meaning and you will catch the rhythm — that is, do 
not force the accent. A particular foot or line may seem 
unrhythmic, but it is merely flowing so as to fill in every 
crevice of the meaning — so to speak. Read, and read, 
and read again : the poem is more beautiful after the 
hundredth reading. 

236 
This lyric is sung in "jMarmion," stanzas 10-11. The 
song is especially appropriate, as it is sung to a company 
of soldiers, whose fate it often is to die far from home 
and sweetheart. The first two stanzas deal with the 
grave of the true lover, the second two with the death and 
grave of the false lover. These last stanzas apply espe- 
cially to ]\Iarmion, who has betrayed a girl who trusted 
him. The metre is unusiial : the first and alter- 
nate lines contain each two dactyls ; the second and alter- 
nate lines, a dactyl and a trochee. This metre is fol- 
lowed rather strictly, but it is such a wild, unnatural 
measure that it seems irregular. The metre is particu- 
larly effective in the third and fourth stanzas, where 
the theme and movement agree admirably. The last 
four lines of the third stanza seem to depart from the 
established metre, but really the movements simply 
march right on regardless of line-endings. The feminine 



530 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

rhymes add a pretty musical note. The pictures are 
graphic. 

clcu loro: evidently an exclamation of sorrow. 

Read the first two stanzas softly and musically, and 
the last two stanzas as with vigor and boldness. Keep 
the rhythm flowing along in strict tempo, but depart 
from it whenever the sense seems to demand it. 

237 

"La belle dame sans merci" means the beautiful lady 
without pity, or the beautiful, heartless lady. Keats got 
the title from an old French poem, but his poem is en- 
tirely original. The story is vague and mysterious, and 
arouses certain cpiestions to which no complete answer 
can be made. It is best, no doubt, to enjoy the charm 
of the suggestive, haunting story and not to pry too 
closely into the meaning. It has been said that perhaps 
Keats meant the lady to symbolize Poetry, or Beauty, 
and the knight to represent himself. Perhaps — but the 
poem is all the more beautiful if we accept the lady as 
some fair witch, some Lorelei, who takes delight in 
luring men to their destruction. 

The first three stanzas reveal the situation by means 
of questions asked by the poet or by the knight of him- 
self. The rest of the poem tells the story, the last stanza 
summing it up by answering definitely the question in 
the first stanza. Observe the exquisite musical effects 
throughout : the half-concealed alliteration and asso- 
nances, some of which extend over three or four lines. 
Observe, too, that the last line has but two feet, while 
the others have four. This last line is always strong 
and significant, and the sudden slowing up of the move- 
ment at this point gives a sort of sombre, solemn effect, 
a note of finality that fits the idea. Observe the sim- 



NOTES 531 

plieity of the langTiage tlirouglioul, and the rich pictures. 

palely: an adverb coined by Keats — partly because he 
wanted to use the aciditional '4" and partly because it 
is much more suggestive than would be the adjective 
''pale" modifying "knight", ivitli hisses four: Keats 
explains this, in a jocular manner, in a letter. As lie 
says, he could have said "score" as far as tlic rhyme 
was concerned. "I was obliged to choose an even num- 
ber," he says, "that both eyea might have fiir play, 
and, to speak truly, I think two apiece quite enough" — 
all of which means, perhaps, that the poet wishes the 
knight to show that his love for the lady was tender and 
respectful, rather than passionate. 

Read slowly, simply, and with a touch of solemnity. 
Linger over the musical phrases, as if reluctant to leave 
them. The words of the last line of each stanza are 
full and heavy, spondee"> are frequent, and the stanza 
comes to a climax; for these reasons the last line should 
be read in a measured, deliberate, sombre tone. This 
is another of the poems that grows more beautiful the 
more it is read. It has a charm that never vanishes. 

239 

This lyric of Shelley's is easy to appreciate: its music 
and grace and suggestive figurative language make it 
beautiful. But some parts are obscure in details. 

St. 3, Love first leaves, etc. : love leaves the stronger 
of the two hearts, the weaker one being left alone to 
endure the loss of what it once possessed, flie frailest: 
the frailest thing, the heart. St. 4, its: the heart's. 
thee: the person left desolate by the departure of love. 
thine eagle home, etc.: thy elevated home will, by decay- 
ing, leave thee naked to the laughter of the world. 

The metre is unusual but musical : the first and alter- 



532 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

nate lines contain two feet, the second and alternate 
lines contain three feet. The foot is either iambic or 
anapestic, no regularity being observed ; but for all that, 
the rhythm is graceful and flowing. It is particularly 
effective in the first stanza, where the shorter line is 
used for the subordinate idea, and the long line for 
the principal idea ; and this general plan prevails 
throughout. The feminine rhymes add grace and melody. 
The music is somewhat sad and plaintive. Bring out 
this note in your reading. Make the meaning as clear 
as possible, but especially stress the music. You will 
need to read several times before you catch the charm 
of the quaint melody. 

240 

Founded on a tradition. The unaffected yet restrained 
pathos, the simplicity of thought and language, and the 
pretty music make the poem a favorite. Observe that 
the first four lines give a sort of summary of the story : 
that the maiden could distinguish her lover while he 
was still a great way off, and that her love gave her an 
hour of happiness even though she was near death. The 
lover's failure to recognize his mistress, however, is 
unprepared for, and it is told so briefly and bruskly that 
it comes as a distinct shock. 

Read with simplicity, sincerity, and sympathy. Bring 
out the pathos of the last stanza by earnest, yet un- 
affected reading. 

243 

A noble sonnet — Shakespearean in its richness of 
images and music, yet thoroughly like Keats in thought 
and mood. Keats knew that he possessed a weak consti- 
tution, but his ambition to be a great poet often made 



NOTES 533 

him careless of his health. He died three years later 
at the age of twenty-five, so that the poem is almost a 
prophecy. Observe the wonderful phrases: ''my teem- 
ing brain", "high-piled books", ''rich garners", 
"night's starred face", "high romance", etc. As you 
murmur over the lines, observe the rich, full music. 

cliaract'ry: written or printed symbols, high romance: 
majestic stories suggested by the heavens, to trace their 
shadows, etc. : to write these stories with a hand directed 
by the happy accident of inspiration. 

244 

This sonnet is addressed to the poet's daughter, who 
had died many years before at the age of three. The 
poet feels a sudden joy, and, impatient as the wind, he 
turns to share his joy with his daughter, when he remem- 
bers that she is dead. He wonders how he could forget 
her for a moment, and says that his momentary forget- 
fulness of her is the deepest grief he has experienced 
except the grief he felt when she died. The sonnet 
sounds so sincere, so full of deep, poignant grief that 
we feel the poet is giving us a glance into his very heart. 

Observe the sudden changes in thought, showing the 
poet's excited mood. Read earnestly and musically. 
Follow the rapid turns of thought, giving the impres- 
sion of the quick succession of ideas. There is a solem- 
nity in the last four lines, with their broad "o" of the 
rhyming vowels and the heaviness of the sounds through- 
out the lines. Read this part slowly and solemnly. 

247 
A very graceful, pretty poem, exquisitely phrased and 
exceedingly musical. It is, however, somewhat obscure 
in places, because the poet dees not wish to i^.se the names 



534 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

for the feelings, since, as lie bints, the names are often 
misused. 

one ivord: love, one feeling: the pleasure in being 
loved, one liope, etc. : the hope of winning your love is 
so slight that prudence does not take the trou])le to 
destroy it. pity from, thee, etc. : the tender pity you 
give me in my disappointed love is dearer than love 
itself from some one else, ivilt thou accept not, etc. : wilt 
thou not accept the worship that the heai't raises. 

The simplicity, the earnestness and tenderness, the 
grace, delicacy, and dignity of expression, and the beauty 
of the language — all combine to make this poem a true 
lyric. Read simply, earnestly, musically. 

250 

A spirited sea-song, or chantey. Its patriotic ardor, 
its simplicity and directness, its buoyancy, its stirring, 
spontaneous, rhythmic swing — put this among the 
choicest chanteys in literature. Observe- that the first, 
third, fifth, seventh, and ninth lines are unrhymed, the 
absence of rhyme being compensated for by making the 
lines longer and stronger, by emphatic alliteration and 
assonance, and, in the seventh lines, by using internal 
rhyme and shortening the line. Observe the effective 
repetitions and the strong, musical refrain, the latter 
being slightly varied in the third stanza and much varied 
in the fourth. 

Read with great energy and enthusiasm. Keep the 
rhythm regular. There is an occasional variation of the 
iambic measure, but the rhythm should march straight 
ahead. 

251 

This lyric is based on the famous naval battle of the 
Baltic fSea, off Copenhagen. The English, under Nelscm, 



NOTES 535 

came in from the open sea and attaeked the Danes, who 
fought in ships and floating batteries along the land- 
ward side and were protected by land batteries. The 
English shattered the Danish fleet, but were unable to 
seize the vessels on account of the Danish land batteries. 
Nelson then sent a flag of truce ashore asking permis- 
sion to take possession of the disabled ships, for the 
sake of the wounded sailors. 

The metre is peculiar. The first line of each stanza 
has two accents, the next three have three accents each, 
the fifth has five, the next three have three each, and tlie 
last has one. The movement suggests the sudden onset, 
the fierce, rapid fighting, which culminates in the long 
line, then diminishes to the solitary cannon-shot in the 
last line. The feet are mingled iambuses and anapests. 
The general movement is rapid. The strong words used 
as rhymes and the succession of the same rhyme-sound 
in the sixth, seventh, and eighth stanzas is striking. All 
told, the sound is a wonderful echo of the meaning. 

St. 1, Prince: the Crown Prince of Denmark. The 
first two stanzas concentrate the attention on the Danes. 
hurricane eclipse: the eclipse of the sun by a sudden 
hurricane. St. 7, in light: in the banquets held in honor 
of the battle. Eiou: an English captain killed in the 
battle. St. 8, mermaid: everyone wishes that the poet 
had left the mermaid out of the poem. It strikes a note 
entirely out of tune. 

Read throughout with great spirit, except the last part 
of the seventh stanza and all of the eighth, where the 
voice should be deep and solemn. Read rhythmically. 
Let your reading of each stanza suggest the swelling 
and sinking of the tumult of battle. The last line should 
be strong, full, and heavy. It is a strongly dramatic 
poem Avhen well read. 



536 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

252 

This lyric is not only a great poem but a bit of sound 
philosophy as well. Stanza one gives a poetic description 
of duty. Stanzas two and three develop the thought 
that there are some persons that do not need to be 
guided and restrained by the sense of duty, as their 
hearts lead them to do what is right, that the world will 
be better when we can all rely upon the suggestions of 
love rather than the commands of Duty, and that even 
now we can obey the spirit of love, supplementing it 
with a sense of duty. Stanza four is personal : the poet, 
not having wished to subject himself to the limitations 
of his freedom, confesses that he has often deferred 
doing what he should in order to follow his own desires, 
but now he wishes to be guided more by Duty. Stanza 
five tells why the poet has changed his mind: it was no 
spiritual disturbance or remorse that changed him, but 
merely the longing for a steadfast guide, so that he 
would not be at the mercy of his changeable desires. 
Stanza six adds more description of Duty, the emphasis 
being placed upon the pleasant and important func- 
tions of Duty. The seventh stanza states that the poet 
wishes Duty to serve humbler functions than those men- 
tioned in the preceding stanza: to give him the spirit of 
self-sacrifice and the steadfastness based on reason rather 
than the fickleness of chance desires. 

St. 1, Daughter of the Voice: perhaps, the echo. When 
God's voice is heard, it starts echoes in the heart which 
suggest duty. St. 4, untried: inexperienced, untested. 
St. 5, unchartered freedom: freedom not limited by a 
definite statement of privileges and duties. St. 6, low- 
ers laugh before thee, etc. : the flowers and stars owe 
their existence to their obedience to the laws of Duty, 
since the flowers return in their season and the stars 



NOTES 537 

remain in their station by obedience to physical laws. 
St. 7, the light of truth, etc.: let me live in recognition 
of the great laws that control the universe, in the reali- 
zation of the fact that everything must be subject to 
definite rules of behavior. 

The poem is remarkable for the beautiful, suggestive 
language in which the abstract truths are clothed. Not 
often is bare ethics or philosophy robed in a garment 
of such beauty. IMor cover, the language is musical : it 
has a majesty and dignity and grandeur that accords 
with the theme. Observe the assonance in many of the 
beautiful lines; observe the hexameter that ends the 
stanza, which adds a solemn, deliberate note of finality 
to the stanza. 

In your reading, let your primary aim be to bring 
out the meaning. Study the language closely until you 
have seen the significance of every phrase, then try to 
make it all clear. Your reading should be slow, dignified, 
meditative, rich and sonorous. 

259 

Most battle-poems paint the glory of warfare; but 
this poem presents the awful aspect. The battle cele- 
brated here was fought in the dead of winter. It began 
in the early morning, before day. The French defeated 
the Austrians with great slaughter. 

Frank and Htm: French and Austrian. Munich: 
cavalry from IMunich, capital of one of the Austrian 
states. 

The dark, gloomy *' atmosphere" of this lyric is re- 
markable. This is produced both by the pictures and 
the heavy, solemn, sullen sounds. The undertone is sad. 
There is none of the ''glorious circumstance of war" in 
the poem. Observe the broad, rich rhyming sounds. 



538 THE COLDEN TREASURY 

which are made more emphatic by the fact that the 
rhymes are in triplets. The last line of each stmza 
has the same rhyme sound, a very musical sound. 

The reading should be somewhat slow, and very deep, 
sonorous, and solemn. Parts of the poem should suggest 
a funeral knell. It is easy to make the meaning clear: 
concentrate, then, on making the tones musically 
effective. 

260 

One of the most effective sermons against war ever 
preached. The children, with their usual inquisitive- 
ness, ask most probing Cjuestions, which the old man 
can answer only with the catch-w^ord, ''It was a famous 
victory" — as if that settled the w^hole matter. It is, 
in a sense, a satire, in which the two children and the 
old man deliver an unconscious judgment on war and 
its horrors. The effectiveness of it all is increased by the 
naturalness and simplicity of thought and language. 

The battle of Blenheim was fought by the Austrians 
under Prince Eugene and the English under the Duke 
of Llarlborough, against the French. The former won 
after a hard-fought battle. 

St. 7, yon little stream, etc. : close by yonder little 
stream, the Nebel. 

Read simply and naturally. Remember that Old 
Kaspar is thoroughly sincere in all he says: do not try 
to make his language sarcastic. You can bring out the 
fundamental idea of the poem best by reading it directly 
and naively. 

261 

The title is taken from a Latin sentence that means 
''It is sweet to die for one's native land." The words 
are supposed to be spoken by Robert Emmett, an Irish 
patriot, who was executed for his part in v.w uprising. 



NOTES 539 

He is supposed to be speakinji' to Ireland. The "foes" 
are the English. 

The metre is graceful — too graceful for the theme. 
Read simply and musically, with all the sincerity 
possible. 

264 

The grace, pathos, simplicity, sincerity, and lyric 
melody of this famous poem are beyond praise. Observe 
that the language is not at all what we usually term 
"poetic"; indeed, in some places, it is colloquial. 
Observe also that there is no rhyme and no definite 
rhythm, yet it is a charming poem. To any one who 
knows Charles Lamb the poem is doubly beautiful, for 
it breathes Charles Lamb in every liiie. 

The friend that the poet left "like an ingrate" was 
Charles Lloyd; the "friend of my bosom" was the poet 
Coleridge. 

Read with the utmost simplicity and sincerity and 
pathos. Do not try to scan the lines: the poem is to 
read, not analyze. Read the refrain line, with its beau- 
tiful, haunting suggestiveness, softly, sadly, musically. 

267 

In this poem Wordsworth discovers a parallel between 
a flower and man. When the lesser celandine is young, 
it has the power of closing up against the cold and 
•storms; but when it grows older, it loses this power and 
is unprotected. So with man. He is first the favorite 
. of the spendthrift Youth, then is the dependant of the 
miser Age. Man would be happy if he could have in 
his old age some of the qualities and powers of youth. 

and in my spleen, etc. : in my ill-humor I said that it 
was getting old and "gray" — like an old man. 

Read to bring out the central idea : the difference be- 



540 - THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

tween the youth and age of the flower, and the compari- 
son of the flower with man. Read simply and rhythmic- 
ally. Read the last stanza with earnestness. 

270 

The poet describes the beautiful Italian landscape at 
noon (stanzas one and two). He speaks of his deep 
dejection (last line of stanza two and all of stanza 
three) ; then tells how his dejection is softened by the 
mildness of the scene. It is a genuine transcript from 
Shelley's life: his love for nature's charms, his sensitive- 
ness to all influences from nature, and his proneness to 
sudden fits of dejection, are characteristics of the poet. 
When one remembers that Shelley was drowned, the last 
stanza has a unique interest: it is almost a prophecy. 

Is it within the powder of words to paint a more beau- 
tiful landscape than this? The ''atmosphere" of the 
poem is mild, calm, and balmy: the quiet beauty of the 
scene is felt by the reader as it was by the poet. Observe 
the soft; melodious combinations of sounds, the half- 
concealed alliteration and assonance, the rich, sonorous 
rhyme-words. Observe, too, the steady, quiet flow of 
the metre, which is varied only in the last line of each 
stanza to make a strong, full close to the thought and 
melody. 

St. 1, like many a voice, etc.: the city's voice is soft 
like Solitude's, like many another voice that brings to 
the hearer the same delight: voices like the winds', etc. 
St. 2, liglitning: the flashes of sunlight reflected from 
the surface of the ocean. St. 3, the sage: perhaps not 
referring to any particular wise man — at least, the de- 
scription would apply to many. 

Read slowly, quietly, meditatively, and, above all, 



NOTES 541 

musically. Linger over the soft touches of melody. Some 
of the sentences are long: if you read them well, they 
suggest the slow, sustained breathing of the sea. Read 
the last line slowly and with all the vibrant richness 
your voice can command. The last line of the third 
stanza is irregular in accent: it should be read 
To me' that cup' has been dealt' in an-oth'-er meas'-ure. 
Stress ''me" strongly and make a decided pause after 
''dealt", and, though you can connt only five accents, 
you can feel six. Read simply : observe how simple the 
words and ideas are. Read rhythmically, but follow 
the natural phrasing rather than the monotonous pull 
of the rhythm. 

272 

An exquisite bit of humor and fancy, couched in a 
graceful, delicate verse. 

Mermaid Tavern: an inn in London, where Shake- 
speare, Ben Jonson, and other poets and wits were V\'ont 
to gather, hoivse: "boose", an astrologer's old quill, etc. : 
an astrologer wrote down the explanation on a bit of 
parchment with his old pen. netv-old sign: the sign of 
the Mermaid Tavern, which had blown away. It was 
old because long used on earth; and new, because just 
lately used in the Zodiac. If you will consult a dic- 
tionary, you will observe that the points of the zodiac 
are represented by certain figures. One of these is a 
maiden. Doubtless it was this sign that the astrologer 
thought to be the sign of the Mermaid, or sea-maiden. 

The metre is the rapid-flowing trochaic tetrameter. 
Read brightly, lightly, rhythmically. Enjoy the spirit 
of fun, the gay fancy, and the graceful-tripping rhythm, 
and make your enjoyment felt. 



542 'J^^ilJ^ COLDEN TREASURY 

274 

The most remarkable feature of this lyric is the metre. 
It is dactyllic dimeter: only two feet to the line, those 
feet the difficult dactylls, and most of the rhymes dac- 
tyllic — that is, with two unaccented syllables after the 
accented syllable. An occasional variation from this 
serves to emphasize the prevailing movement. It is a 
very difficult and unusual metre. The poet has done 
extremely well with it, and has managed to convey, by 
the lightness and fragility of the form, some impression 
of the fragility of the life of the '' Unfortunate." It is 
questionable, however, whether the choppiness of the 
verse makes it a fit poetic form' of the theme. The rhyme- 
plan and stanza-length are irregular, to suit the thought. 
The earnestness, sincerity, and delicacy, the thorough 
understanding and sympathy with the dead woman are 
fine and noble. 

Read the poem until you feel the pathos of the situa- 
tion and can clearly visualize the pictures. Then read 
aloud, tend3rly, sympathetically, musically. The strict 
rhythm will tempt you to read too rapidly and trip- 
pingly : counteract this tendency by reading deliberately 
and lingeringly, as if to let the ideas sink home to the 
mind. 

278 

From ''The Lady of the Lake." It is the funeral song 
over the dead body of a Scottish chief, who died in 
middle age. The metre is anapestic, varied with iambs, 
and there is an extra syllable at the end of every line, 
making the rhymes feminine. Observe the numerous 
simple but suggestive figures of speech, all drawn from 
natural surroundings. 

font: fountain, spring, the hand of the reaper, etc.: 
it is expected that death will take the aged; but men 



NOTES 



543 



weep over manhood snatched away in its prime. The 
same idea is expressed in tlie next four lines. HusJi'nu): 
full vigor. 

There is something peculiarly wild and vigorous in 
this lyric. It is the funeral song of a half-barbarous 
chief: naturally, one would not expect to find the soft, 
gentle, mourning note of the refined. Read vigorously, 
rhythmically, yet sincerely and passionately, in the full 
realization of the feeling of the mourners. 

279 

The grace, delicacy, tenderness, the softness and sweet- 
ness of the music, the simple yet effective use of contrast 
— all this* makes Hood's lyric a striking contrast to 
Scott's, though they are both on the same general 
theme. 

Read simply, softly, tenderly, musically. The pictures 
are vivid : endeavor to see them clearly and express them 
clearly. Do not let a harsh sound mar the perfect beauty 
of melody. 

281 

A story told by means of hints. The first stanza is 
the poet's introduction. In the second, third, and fourth 
stanzas Rosabelle's friends are trying to persuade her 
not to attempt to cross the stormy inlet of the sea, not 
only because it is a dangerous crossing but because cer- 
tain inauspicious omens have been heard and seen. In 
the fifth and sixth stanzas Rosabelle announces her in- 
tention of crossing. A ball is to be given at her home in 
Roslin castle, and her lover,- Lindesay, is to be there — 
though Rosabelle protests that her desire to go home is 
not so much to see him as to please her father and 
mother. The remainder of the ballad tells the sequel : 
all that night a mysterious light blazes over Roslin 



544 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Castle and in Roslin Chapel, a light that always fore- 
tells a death in the family; and Rosabelle is drowned 
in the firth. That is the bare outline of the story, but 
it does not reveal the rich suggestiveness of detail, the 
half-told, half concealed situations and incidents. The 
demand made on the imagination is great; but the re- 
ward is great. Just sufficient is told to pique our imagi- 
nation and set our minds constructing the whole story, 
and there the poet stops, allowing us to feel the pathos 
of the situation. Scott is a master at this kind of work, 
and this is one of his best poems in that respect. 

St. 1, ladies gay: addressed to ladies, rather than to 
gentlemen because the story appeals to women. St. 3, 
inch: island. St. 4, tvet shroud: foretelling death by 
drowning. St. 10, pale: enclosure, foliage-hound: orna- 
mented with foliage, either bound on the pillars or cut 
into the pillar. St. 13 candle, hook^ and knell: referring 
to the ceremonies used at funerals. 

Read until you have seen all the pictures in your 
mind's eye and have come under the spell of the story; 
then read simply, clearly, aud musically. Bring out 
the story : suggest the speakers by your manner of read- 
ing; show the importance of such lines as "But the sea 
holds lovely Rosabelle, ' ' by your tone and the emphasis. 
The general undertone is solemnity and mystery. Make 
your voice as flexible as you can to bring out all the emo- 
tional and musical effects. It is a wonderful poem when 
well read: thrilling and dramatic, and restrained and 
artistic. 

286 

This poem, the next, and No. 290 are characteristic 
of the three poets. Wordsworth's "To the Skylark" 
is musical, sweet, temperate, and restrained, with less of 
ecstasy and lofty imagination; Shelley's "To a Sky- 



NOTES 545 

lark" is gay, spontaneous, highly fanciful, full of "fine 
frenzy", adorned with poetic beauties; Keats' "Ode to 
a Nightingale" is sustained, personal, replete with sug- 
gestive and unusual ideas and phrases, very imaginative. 
Wordsworth's calm, contented nature, Shelley's sensi- 
tive, emotional temperament, and Keats' aspiring, 
beauty-loving spirit are all suggested by these poems. 

St. 1, canst drop into at ivill: it is said that the sky- 
lark can descend from a great height in a single dip 
and literally "drop into" her nest. St. 2, twixt thee 
and thine, etc. : the song is a never-failing bond because, 
though the bird is out of sight, the music can still be 
heard. St. 3, privacy of glorious light: a suggestive 
oxymoron. It suggests Emerson's phrase, "the tumul- 
tuous privacy of storm." The "privacy" here is the 
privacy of the bird when out of sight, instinct more 
divine: because of the idea stated in the following lines. 

Read musically, clearly, simply. A certain mild hap- 
piness should be expressed in the tones and expression. 

287 

Read the poem through first to discoTer the broad divi- 
sions of the lyric. Perhaps Shelley did not write from 
an outline, but the stanzas fall into groups. St. 1 is an 
invocation to the bird ; stanzas 2-6 are a general descrip- 
tion of the bird and its song; stanzas 7-12 contain at- 
tempts to find an apt comparison to the skylark ; stanzas 
13-21 develop a comparison between the bird and man, 
with a more personal reference to the poet himself in 
the last stanza. 

The metre is unusual. The first and third lines are 
trochaic trimeter, the second and fourth lines are the 
same except that they lack the unaccented syllable at 
the end of the line; the fifth line is iambic hexameter. 



54G THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

Irregularities are allowed throughout, for variety. The 
trochaic movement gives lightness and gayety, the femi- 
nine rhymes add a pretty musical touch, the long- iambic 
line provides a full, impressive, and melodious close to 
the stanza. The ''profuse strains of unpremeditated 
art" of the skylark are clearly suggested in the move- 
ment of the verse. 

Shelley has lavished upon the poem a wealth of beauty 
— beauty of thought, of fancy, of phrase, of sound. 
These the student should discover and appreciate for 
himself. 

St. 1, profuse: Recent on both syllables. St. 3, an 
nnhodied joy: a spirit just freed from the body. St. 5, 
silver sphere: the moon, or the star mentioned in pre- 
ceding stanza, narrows: grows dim, St. 8, in the light 
of thought: as the skylark is hidden in the sunlight. St. 
15, fountains: sources, inspiration. St. 16, languor: ap- 
parently, lack or loss of enthusiasm. St. 17, deem: 
think, ''of death" modifies "things." St. 19, if: even 
if. 

Alliteration and beautiful assonance characterize 
almost every stanza. Bright, clear, joyful music should 
be heard in the reading. Do not make the rhythm too 
strict: phrase according to the sense rather than the 
demands of strict scansion. Accelerate or retard the 
movement at any point to bring out the musical phras- 
ing. The last line of each stanza should be rich, sus- 
tained, and expressive. 

290 

Surely the words of this poem come as near to the 

expression of an emotion, of a mood, as mere words can 

come. Keats, sensitive and impressionable, was moved 

more than most men by beauty; and, more than most 



NOTES 547 

men, he had the power to express his feelings. As the 
i-jong of the nightingale moved Keats, so his poem should 
move us : we should give ourselves up to the deep, sensu- 
ous, impassioned mood of the poet, and follow his emo- 
tion as called forth by the beauty of the bird 's song and 
the thoughts of his own life. 

We must not fail to remember that Keats is in thor- 
ough earnest in all he says. His life was, for the most 
part, full of gloom. He knew himself to be a great poet, 
yet his poetry w^as caustically criticized; he longed for 
strength and life that he migl.t realize the fullness of 
his powers, yet he was always frail and knew that he 
could not live long; he was deeply in love, yet had no 
hope of every marrying. Moreover, his brother had 
recently died. The tender, delicate, sensitive spirit 
could not but sink occasionally into depths of dejection ; 
his dejection, as here described, is natural and sincere, 
not a mere passing cloud. Yet his joy in the bird's song 
is just as deep and true. Beauty of any kind really 
put Keats in a sort of trance. Let us keep this in mind 
as we read. 

In stanza 1 the effect of the bird's song is described 
as having the same effect upon the poet as an opiate. 
Stanzas 2-3 express a wish for some drink that will 
enable him to forget his sorrows and flee with the night- 
ingale. In stanzas 4-5 the poet imagines he has fled with 
the bird on the "wings of poesy." Stanza 6 develops 
the thought that, since the poet has wished many times 
to die, he doubly desires it now, while the nightingale 
is pouring forth such music. Stanza 7 speaks of the 
immortality of the bird, as contrasted with the poet's 
mortality. In stanza 8 Keats is brought back to a 
realization of his ovrn desolation, from which he has been 
enticed by the train of thoughts. 



548 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

St. 1, drains: dregs. Lethe-wards: towards forgetfnl- 
ness. St. 2, Proveugal song: the music of Provence was 
gay and lively, hliishfid: blushing. Hippocrene: a 
fountain in Mount Helicon, the haunt of the Muses. 
Keats fancies that the w^ater would look and taste like 
wine, so animating would it be. mouth: of the beaker, 
or goblet. St. 3, new love pine at them, etc.: (this 
v/orld) where fickle love cannot pine at the loss of the 
beauty of his mistress more than one day, but seeks 
another mistress. St. 4, not charioted hy Bacchus and 
his pards: not carried to .you by wine-drinking. Bacchus 
was god of w^ine. He once drove a team of tigers round 
the world in his chariot, save what from heaven, etc.: 
except the faint light that comes in when the wind blows 
the leaves and branches aside. St. 5, pastoral eglantine: 
the eglantine was a rose often mentioned in pastoral 
poetry. St. 6, for many a time: because many a time. 
to thy high requiem, etc. : become as insensible as the 
ground to thy noble funeral song. St. 7, thou: in con- 
trast to the poet, clown: peasant, alien' corn: see 
''Ruth," chap. 2. magic casements, etc.: these words 
are full of suggestiveness, but perhaps no two persons 
get the same picture. Perhaps the image is of a lady 
imprisoned by an enchanter in a castle near a sea. She 
opens the window to hear the nightingale's song. St. 8, 
the fancy cannot cheat so ivell, etc.: I have been alloAV- 
ing myself to imagine that I have been caught up with 
the nightingale and have been thinking of Ruth and 
fairy-land; but now I find that imagination, though a 
deceitful spirit, cannot deceive me as completely as it is 
said to do. 

The poem is full of beautiful pictures, rich fancy, 
melodious music. The soft, liquid sounds, the onomato- 
poeic effects, tne assonances, the broad, open, clear- 






NOTES 549 

ringing vowels — all this contributes to the wonderful 
music for which the poem is noted. The movement is 
slow, somewhat grave and stately. The metre and the 
rhyme-scheme are regular, and the lines are all of the 
same length except the eighth line, which has but three 
accents. This regularity of movement helps produce 
the quiet, meditative, dream-like impression. The short 
line near the end of the stanza produces a slight retarda- 
tion of the movement just before the full, rich, swelling 
movement of the last two lines. 

The key-tone of the lyric is gloom softened by the love 
of beauty. The voice should be low-pitched and vibrant ; 
the reading should be slow and graceful, rich and mu- 
sical. Put yourself in subjection to the mood of the 
poet and let your voice follow the changes and modu- 
lations of the mood. If you feel deeply, you will prob- 
ably read well. Do not try to read too rhythmically. 
Read and re-read, letting your voice linger on the 
melodious lines and passages, and inhaling the full fra- 
grance of this flower of poesy. 

293 

A picture, and a lesson. The picture is painted with 
vigor and vividness, and the lesson is drawn with admir- 
able restraint. The contrast between Ozymandias' arro- 
gant assurance of being remembered and our total igno- 
rance and carelessness of who Ozymandias was, the con- 
trast between the boastful inscription of the monument 
and the decay and desolation of the scene — is powerful, 
all the more powerful because Shelley merely states the 
facts and allows the reader to draw conclusions. Observe 
the specific, picturesque words. Observe the onomato- 
poeic effect of the last three lines. 

the hand that mocked them, etc. : the hand of the 



550 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

sculptor that copied the sneer, lip, and frown, and the 
heart of Ozymandias that nourished them, ''hand" and 
''heart" are the object of "survive." 

Read the first nine lines in a rather conversational 
tone, trying only to make the ideas clear and forceful. 
Read the inscription pompously, arrogantly. Make a 
pause after these words, then read the last three lines 
slowly, solemnly, musically, almost like a chant. Let 
the voice grow fainter toward the end until it becomes 
almost inaudible. Give the effect of the vastness of the 
desert and the pathos of the situation. 

297 

"When Wordsworth was traveling through the High- 
lands of Scotland, he saw the Scotch girl here described 
and immortalized. He did not know her, of course ; and 
never saw her again. But the scene and the picture of 
the maiden remained with him all his life, flashing at 
intervals upon his "inward eye." Wordsworth was 
very sensitive to such scenes as this — scenes in which 
nature and humanity mingle ; so that he is able to feel 
and express an emotion far more keenly than most of us. 
The simplicity, both of idea and phrase ; the quiet beauty 
of the sound and movement ; the accurate and suggestive 
pictures ; the wealth of pure, natural feeling — this makes 
the poem worth our reading and appreciation. 

Observe that there are four sections, each of which 
ends with three lines rhyming, the other lines rhyming 
in couplets. Examine the sections for the outline, and 
read the lines closely for the admirably descriptive 
words. 

Read quietly, yet sincerely and earnestly. The regular 
recurrence of the accent and rhyme should help pro- 
duce the atmosphere of calm and tranquil pleasure; l)ut 



NOTES 551 

you should take heed that your reading be not monot- 
onous. The sounds are soft and melodious: make your 
voice a true musical instrument. 

300 

Ariel is a spirit in Shakespeare's ''Tempest, "a serv- 
ant to Prospero the magician. Prospero's daughter 
Miranda and Prince Ferdinand were going to Naples 
to be married, and Prospero commissioned Ariel to guard 
the ship that carried them. This is Shakespeare's idea. 
But Shelley carried the idea farther : Miranda has been 
re-incarnated from that time on, and Ariel is still guard- 
ing her. Now she lives in the person of Shelley 's friend, 
Jane Williams. Shelley sends her a guitar, in which 
Ariel is imprisoned and from which he speaks to her. 
It is a pretty fancy — pretty in conception and fine and 
delicate in its details. Perhaps the germ of the idea is 
the facts that the front of this guitar was made of pine 
and that Ariel had been imprisoned in a cloven pine tree. 

The poem is divided into two sections : the first devel- 
oping the history of Ariel and Miranda ; the second, the 
creation and nature of the guitar. Observe the light, 
delicate maisic of the octosyllabics, which exactly accords 
with the gay fancy. Observe the onomatopoeic effects 
throughout, especially in lines 65-75. 

The poem will need close study in places, for the fan- 
cies are fine and close-inwrought. Get these difficulties 
out of the way before you attempt to read aloud. Read 
lightly and brightly. Remember that it is a spirit 
speaking: endeavor to give your rendering of the poem 
a delicate, ethereal, fairy-like tone. Read rhythmically 
and trippingly, enunciating clearly and musically. Fol- 
low the phrasing : do not end the ideas at the end of the 
lines unless the sense suggests it. Some one has said the 



552 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

musical note of the poem resembles the tone of the 
guitar: see if you can hear that tone and suggest it in 
your reading. 

302 

A poem in the lighter vein. Wordsworth is sporting 
with his fancy, playing with similes. It reminds one of 
part of Shelley's "To a Skylark," though in that poem 
the series of similes is more dignified and elaborate. But 
"Wordsworth's poem is not all lightness; every now and 
then, as in the last stanza, he displays his tenderness 
and sympathy with the flower. His attitude is much 
like that of one teasing a beloved child, calling it all 
sorts of pretty names in the exuberance of his fancy 
and affection. Observe the light, graceful, capricious 
metre. Observe the yielding, flexible feminine rhymes, 
falling upon the ear with a pleasant jingle. 

St. 1, types: typificatiOns, symbols. 

In your reading show clearly that the poet and you are 
merely playing a pretty game. Eead lightly, gayly. 
Here and there a note of pretended seriousness should 
be heard, as in the first part of stanza four. When the 
poet gives up his play-idea and shows his deeper emo- 
tion, follow him. The last two lines of stanza five and 
all of stanza six are sincere and earnest : make that man- 
ifest by your reading. 

305 
This poem is based on an incident of the Words- 
M^orths' tour through the Highlands. The poet and his 
sister Dorothy had walked down the Tweed river to 
Clovenford. From here it was but a short walk to a 
ridge overlooking the Yarrow valley. Dorothy, ("my 
winsome marrow") wished to turn aside to Yarrow^ but 
her brother over-persuaded her, perhaps with arguments 



NOTES 553 

similar to these in the poem: that their time can be 
spent to better advantage in viewing other seenes, and 
that the picture they have in their minds of Yarrow is 
more beautiful than the real Yarrow could be. 

The spirit in which the poem is conceived and exe- 
cuted is half-playful, half-serious. The movement is 
vigorous and rhythmic ; the diction somewhat conversa- 
tional; the images intentionally rather prosaic. The 
poet is assuming a half-contemptuous tone in order to 
persuade his sister to agree to his plans. Observe the 
playful, almost humorous effect of the feminine rhymes. 

Be sure that you catch the spirit of the poem and the 
mood of the poet before you attempt to read aloud. 
Kead lightly, brightly, gayly. Keep up. the regular flow 
of the rhythm, and give a graceful, dancing swing to 
the verses. 

307 

Addressed to Jane Williams. The title suggests the 
leading thought of the poem : an invitation to Mrs. Wil- 
liams to join the poet in a walk. The poem excels in 
vivid and vigorous description of the Italian winter 
and landscape. The movement is bright, the tones 
staccato. 

The pools where tvinter rams, etc. : the pools filled 
with winter rains, the pools reflecting the leaves of the 
trees above, stems that never kiss the sun: because 
covered with the twining ivy and the "sapless green." 
the daisy-star that never sets: the daisy is called a star 
because of its shape, and it is spoken of as never setting 
because it blooms almost through the year, yet join not 
scent to hue: the early flowers have as yet no scent. 

The spirit of the season, the mood of the poet, and 
the images and movement all suggest that the reading 
should be energetic, gay, sprightly, rhythmic. However, 



554 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

the rliytlim should be interrupted whenever foUowing 
the strict rhythm would garble the meaning. Such in- 
terruptions are not blemishes : they give variety ; they 
throw emphasis upon important words ; they really make 
the swing more pronounced by calling attention to it 
through departing from it for the moment. 

309 

Written on the beach at Dover. The calm grandeur 
of nature made a powerful appeal to Wordsworth's 
serene personality. Notice that the first eight lines of 
the sonnet develop one thought : the tranquility of the 
scene ; while the last six lines take up a related thought : 
the effect of the scene upon the poet's companion. Ob- 
serve the many onomatopoeic effects, both of sound and 
movement. Observe the soft consonants and pretty 
vowels of the first two lines ; observe how the idea of 
"breathless adoration" is intensified by the trochee at 
the beginning of line three and by the huddling together 
of the syllables of the first three words; observe the 
strong spondee in the last foot of the third line, which, 
by its very sound, emphasizes the idea; observe the 
liquids in the fourth line and the way in which the 
sounds and movement suggest the sinking of the sun; 
observe, in the eighth line, the suggestion of the insistent 
beating of the waves on the shore. The first eight lines 
are full of musical assonances. 

thou liest in Abraham's bosom, etc.: thou art blessed 
with divine favors all the time, so do not appear touched 
by such a scene as this ; but we are given such moments 
of joy but seldom. The person addressed is the poet's 
sister Dorothy. 

Read quietly, meditatively, earnestly, musically. Try 
to express the undertone : quiet, serene joy ; and try to 



NOTES 555 

bring out the various onomatopoeic effects. Stand with 
the poet on the shore of the ocean and try to feel with 
him the benign power of the scene ; then endeavor to give 
your emotion adequate utterance. 

313 

The most noteworthy features of this lyric are the 
onomatopoeic effects, the artful breaking of the rhythm 
by pauses, the delightful pictures, and the skilful phras- 
ing. Observe the soft, murmuring sounds of the first 
quatrain and the melancholy note of the last line in the 
second quatrain. Notice the decided pause within lines 
two, four, and six. 

stealth: the poet has been trying to win Sleep by 
stealth by thinking of sights and sounds that would 
induce sleep. 

Read the first quatrain softly, musically, trying to 
suggest the drowsiness of the sounds. Begin the next 
quatrain in a simple, quiet, natural key; but in the last 
part suggest the notes of the small birds and the cuckoo. 
Read the last six lines with more earnestness. The last 
two lines should be a sincere exhortation. 

316 
Coleridge dreamed this poem. Pie had been reading 
an account of how Kubla Khan had erected a palace and 
laid out grounds. While the poet was asleep, he dreamed 
that he had composed two or three hundred lines — 
though it wa's not composing in the ordinary sense of 
the word, since '^the images rose up before him as 
things, with a parallel production of the correspondent 
expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of 
effort." When he awoke, he wrote down, "instantly 
and eagerly" the first part of his dream-poem. He was 



556 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

interrupted; and afterwards he found it impossible to 
recollect the remainder. The strange origin and com- 
position of the poem doubtless account in part for its 
highly imaginative nature, the weird images, the dream- 
like fabric, and the irregular, spontaneous music. 

English literature has few poems as magical as this 
one. From the very first line we are caught up into 
a strange, new country, beautiful but vague and 
shadowy; weird, uncanny suggestions agitate us; mel- 
odies, sweet yet solemn, fall upon our ears. Surely the 
way to enjoy the poem is to imitate Coleridge: as he 
composed not in words but in ideas, let us read by ideas, 
by images. There is a kind of poetry that requires close 
and constant study, and there is a kind that requires 
sympathetic insight, free yielding to the spell of the 
poet. "Kubla Khan" belongs to the latter class. 
Coleridge once spoke of ''that willing suspension of dis- 
belief which constitutes poetic faith." We need pre- 
cisely that attitude in reading this lyric. 

If any one cares to analyze the poem, he will dis- 
cover some of the reasons for its charm. The frequent 
alliteration and assonance; the onomatopoeic effects of 
sound and movement. (Could any line be more music- 
ally suggestive than "Five miles meandering wdth a 
mazy motion"? Repeat the line a few times and see 
how it haunts you) ; the eerie images, the irregular 
metre, which coincides precisely with the shade of 
thought ; the happily-found phrases — all this can be 
discovered and analyzed. But the charm- of the poem 
defies analysis : it yields its highest pleasure to the one 
that permits himself to be caught up with the poet in 
his wonderful dream. 

No specific suggestions can be given for the reading. 



NOTES 557 

The poem should be read musically, of course ; and it 
should be read expressively — slowly at times, rapidly at 
others; rhythmically, but with changes in movement 
whenever the phrase or thought demand it. The student 
should read the poem over and over ; then if he has any 
power of expression, he will read well. 

317 

A poet here gives his conception of the nature and 
equipment of the poet. The thought of the first two 
quatrains is that the poet gets his ideas from within, 
through the "inner vision." He enjoys Nature, but 
having once looked upon a scene, he prefers to create a 
scene of his own or to meditate upon what has been 
suggested to him. The last six lines state that thought- 
fulness, meditation, imagination, and love supply the 
equipment of the poet. If they are absent, there can be 
no poetry. The senses may perceive well or ill, may 
or may not bring to the poet hints and inspiration ; if 
Thought and Love are endowments of the poet, the poet 
will be inspired. This is a poor paraphrase: Words- 
worth has expressed the matter both clearly and beauti- 
fully ; and once w^e perceive his thought, we should adopt 
his own language. 

Read quietly, meditatively, earnestly. Bring out the 
thought clearly. 

322 

One hardly knows where to begin in analyzing this 
great lyric. Let us take first the main divisions of 
thought. The first stanza takes up the wind as a scat- 
terer of the leaves and wind ; the second stanza, as a 
driver of the clouds ; the third, as a mover of the ocean 
storms. The fourth stanza begins the personal applica- 



558 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

tion : ''If I were a dead leaf or a cloud or a wave, or 
if I were even as hopeful and enthusiastic as I was when 
I was a boy, then I would not have to call upon you to 
listen to my prayer." The fifth stanza makes a figura- 
tive and personal application of the thought of the first 
stanza. The poet desires to be animated with the spirit 
of the Avest wind, that his thoughts may be driven like 
leaves over the earth to arouse the emotions of others. 

Notice, next, the wealth of figurative language. The 
poem is a chain of figures. Scarcely is one finished when 
another succeeds, yet each one is appropriate and each 
one thought-provoking. In the first stanza, the wind is 
the breath of Autumn's being, the leaves flee before the 
Avind like gltosts from an enchanter, the leaves are hectic 
red, 'pestilence-stricken, the wind is a charioteer, the 
seeds lie like corpses, the spring wind is the sister of the 
West Wind, the blowing of the spring wind is a clarion, 
the winter-bound earth is dreaming, the spring wind 
calling out the buds is driving the buds like flocks to feed 
on air. The poet thinks in figures. Observe the splendid 
figures in the last stanza. Indeed, this poem would have 
neither force, beauty, or truth, if it were divested of its 
figures of speech. And the rapid succession of figures 
assists in creating the impression of the impassioned 
mood of the poet. 

The musical (jualities of the lyric are as remarkable as 
the intellectual and emotional qualities. The full, rich, 
sustained music is one of the first characteristics. The 
metre is, normally, iambic pentameter, but hardly a line 
is regular. Trochees and spondees occur frequently. 
The iambuses are skilfully varied. The clauses often 
end within the line. Several feminine rhymes are used. 
The metre, then, is irregular — but artistically irregular. 



NOTES 559 

It is rapid and vehement, or slow and solemn, as befits 
the thought in the particular line ; the shifting of the 
accent throws emphasis upon strong words and allows 
onomatopoeic effects of movement. Through the whole 
poem there sounds a rich, full, sustained note, both 
splendid and melancholy. The poet has made the poem 
musical also by the sounds. Notice the frecjuent allitera- 
tion and delightful assonance. Study, for example, the 
third stanza : observe the liquids in the third line and 
others; the "s's" and "b's" in line four, and the "s's" 
and ''a's" and "I's" in line five; the solemn ''o's" in 
the last four lines of the stanza. It is wonderful music. 

St. 2, angels: messengers, are spread: the subject is 
^'the locks." L. 10, ivhich: the antecedent is "dirge." 
St. 4, only less free, etc. : freer than anything else but 
you. vision: visionary, impossible. St. 5, both: both the 
forest and myself, prophecy: namely, that a better day 
is dawning, that the gloomy winter will be followed by 
the bright spring. 

The lyric is sincere, impassioned, and personal. Let 
your reading reflect this. Passionate intensity should 
be manifest throughout, especially in the last two stanzas. 
Strive to make the meaning absolutely clear: some of 
the long, involved sentences will require close attention 
in this respect. You should shovv^ the outline of thought : 
do this emphasizing the different ideas as you take them 
up. Do not try to make the poem rhythmic : follow the 
thought, hastening or retarding the movement to fit the 
natural turn of thought. Endeavor to make both move- 
ment and sound form a sort of echo to the meaning. 
Dwell on the rich, beautiful lines and passages and 
listen to the musical undertone. This is one of the great 
poems of literature: the oftener you read it, the more 



560 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

will you appreciate it and the more perfectly will you 
be able to express the thought, the feeling, and the 
music. 

323 

The poet gives us a clue to the interpretation of the 
poem. It was suggested by a picture of Peele Castle in 
a storm, the Castle being on a small island. Words- 
worth states that he had lived for a month in sight of 
the Castle, but had seen it only in calm weather. If 
he had then painted the Castle, he would have made it 
a scene of quiet beauty. But now he is possessed by a 
different feeling. His brother John has recently been 
drowned in a storm at sea. The poet can not now 
paint a quiet sea, for the grief at his brother's death has 
colored his feeling for the sea. The poet then commends 
the picture for its spirit and fidelity to nature, then 
closes with the thought that the heart that does not 
suffer with human emotions is to be pitied, that one 
should not always expect to see the ocean in a calm or 
to live free from sorrow. 

The simplicity, the sincerity, and the wonderful 
phrasal power are obvious. The poem has deep feeling 
and expresses very beautifully an eternal truth. A 
quiet, sweet music sounds throughout. There is little 
adornment or elaboration : the thought is stated with 
such consummate skill that it needs no rhetorical em- 
phasis. 

Eead quietly, musically, sincerely, simply. See to it 
that your reading makes clear the thought upon which 
the feeling is based. 

327 

This sonnet, especially the first eight lines, has a Mil- 
tonic ring. The ''royal Saint" who founded the college 



NOTES 561 

was Henry VI. It was originally designed for only a 
'^scanty band" of students called ''scholars" and ''fel- 
lows." They were, and are now, the "members of the 
foundation." They may wear white gowns at chapel 
services. Students that pay tuition are comparatively 
modern, and they are yet strictly distinguished from the 
scholars and fellows. They are not allowed to wear 
white. 

The first eight lines develop the thought that we should 
not blame the founder and the architect for planning 
and executing such a splendid building for such a small 
band. We must give all we have to give: Heaven does 
not want us to measure our deeds by the rules of arith- 
metic. The last six lines give a description of the in- 
terior of the Chapel, the ceiling of which is very in- 
tricately fashioned. 

with ill-matched aims: designs too pretentious for the 
purpose of the building. Supply "tax not" in this 
line, sense: the sensuous nature. 

Read the first eight lines simply, but earnestly and 
energetically. Read the last six lines musically. The 
last line should be read diminuendo, the movement be- 
coming slower and the voice softer until it almost dies 
away — like the music that forms the theme. 

328 
Whether Keats had seen or had not seen such an urn 
as he describes in this poem is not material. It is enough 
that he has here given us a beautiful description of an 
urn and some fancies and thoughts as beautiful as the 
object that inspired them. In quaint modern fancies 
and in thoroughly Greek love of beauty, the poem is 
unique. 



562 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

of quietness: almost equivalent to "quiet," referring 
to the fact that the urn tells its story without words. 
The same idea is expressed in the next line, with the ad- 
ditional thought of the lapse of time since the urn was 
created. Sylvan historian: because it tells a sylvan 
story of life long past, leaf-fringed legend, etc., what 
story is hinted by the border of leaves around the figures 
on the urn ? St. 2, heard melodies are sweet, etc. : music 
heard by the ear is not so sweet as that heard by the 
spirit. The music suggested by the figures of pipe- 
players on the urn is more melodious than real music. St. 
3, human passion far above: far above human passion, 
which, etc. St. 4, What are these coming, etc. : the fig- 
ures on the urn are here described, as in the first stanza, 
by questions, thy streets for evermore will silent be: 
because all the inhabitants are here on the urn and can- 
not return to their homes. St. 5, dost tease us out of 
thought, etc. : the attempt to express our feelings about 
the urn is as baffling, as teasing as to express our feel- 
ings about eternity. 

In order to read the poem well, we must, of course, 
catch the spirit of the poet. No modern poet has felt 
more strongly or expressed more perfectly the spirit of 
ancient Greece than has Keats. Even their principle 
of art, that beauty is truth and truth is beauty, was one 
of his working principles. This poem, then, is perfectly 
sincere. The permanence of sound art and the transi- 
toriness of human passions is also an article in Keats' 
creed, so is expressed strongly. Yet throughout the poem 
there is a brilliant lightness that helps create the im- 
pression of the intense joy the poet took in the work of 
his fellow-craftsman, the artist who created the urn. 
Read sincerely, then, but not heavily or gloomily. Read 



NOTES 563 

with intensity. The poem is very musical — full of pleas- 
ant notes and with a natural, easy flow. The last 
stanza should be read with more earnestness. 

329 

The contrast between youth and age is a favorite theme 
with poets. The old man looking back upon his youth 
is inspired with tenderness for it and feels the pathos 
of the changes that have come with age — which emotion 
lends itself readily to poetic treatment. Coleridge was 
advanced in years w^hen he wrote this lyric. The delicacy 
and grace and lightness of the verse intensify the pathos 
of the theme. 

St. 1, both ivere mine: both Hope and the power to 
WTite poetry. Coleridge composed little poetry in his 
later years. tJiis body that does me grievous wrong: 
Coleridge was in w^eak health most of his life, trim 
sl-iffs: steamers. St. 2, Fll think it hut a fond conceit: 
I'll believe that the thought that j^outh is gone is but 
a foolish fancy, masker: masquerader. slij^s: strips, 
wisps, tears take sunsliine from thine eyes: sorrow 
catches gladness from the brightness of your eyes. Life 
is hut Thought, etc. : a poetical statement of the familiar 
dictum that a person is only as old as he feels. St. 3, 
the tears of mournful eve: tears are the gems of evening 
or old age, as dew-drops are the gems of morning, or 
youth, tells the jest without the smile: tells a sup- 
posedly humorous story without exciting any laughter — 
an unusually suggestive simile. 

Read simply and naturally. The movement is grace- 
ful and rhythmic, but the reading should not be rapid 
and tripping. It is almost as if an old man were taking 
a pathetic idea lightly, adorning a sad thought with all 



564 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

the graces and beauties of poetry. The reading should 
produce this impression. You have not read well if 
the music is not both sad and sweet. 

330 

Wordsworth's remarkable power to tell a story of 
common life with restraint and artistic simplicity is here 
well illustrated. As he and Matthew, the schoolmaster, 
are going out among the hills for a holiday one bright, 
beautiful summer morning, Matthew suddenly utters 
the words ''The will of God be done." The poet natur- 
ally asks him why, when the day is so beautiful and they 
have so well started their tramp, he should voice such 
a sentiment. Then Matthew tells him of another morn- 
ing, thirty years before, so much like this morning that 
the memory of it comes forcibly to his mind. On that 
former April morning he had been fishing. On his way 
he stopped at the cemetery w^here his daughter was 
buried; and as he stood by her grave, his love for her 
was stronger, it seemed, than it ever had been before. 
As he turned away, he met a girl, beautiful and happy. 
She made him think of his daughter and what she would 
have been; but in spite of the young stranger's beauty 
and grace, he did not wish her for his daughter — he 
wished for his own daughter alive again. Now on this 
morning, thirty years afterward, the memory of that 
morning comes to him and causes him to sigh and say 
''The will of God be done." 

Wordsworth states that this story is not an absolute 
fact, but it is certainly a real human document, told with 
absolute fidelity to the laws of life. Read simply, di- 
rectly, earnestly. Try merely to present the story as 
the poet has done — with simple dignity ; you may be 
sure the pathos will go home of itself, 



NOTES 565 

334 

Full of deep, heartfelt emotion and sweet, minor 
music. The poet attributes to nature the emotions he 
himself feels — his own grief being so great that he im- 
agines all nature mourns with him. 

knells: that is, with thunder. 

Read slowly, gravely, musically. The voice should 
naturally take a lower pitch and be vibrant and sombre. 
Read the poem aloud a few times until you feel the 
strange charm : the poem will haunt you with its music 
and emotion. 

335 

''Threnos" means a dirge. The poem is a lament for 
lost youth and the joys of youth. The lyric is so vague 
and general that it does not lend itself readily to close 
study. Perhaps the poet felt that vague dissatisfaction 
with the world that we all feel sometimes, and wished 
to give musical expression to the feeling without analyz- 
ing it. Observe that the first two lines and the last one 
of each stanza consist of but three accents, while the two 
internal lines have five accents — all but the third line 
of the second stanza, which has only four. The effect 
is of ascending to the summit of the thought, then wear- 
ily turning back with the beautiful, mournful refrain of 
*'No more — Oh, never more!" Observe that only two 
vowels are used for the rhymes: long-''i" and ''o"- 
before-^'r" — both very musical sounds. 

tremUing at that, etc. : perhaps the figure is of an old 
man looking with fear upon a high precipice where he 
had stood in youth unafraid, c. 1. Ecclesiastes : 12, 5, 
first clause. His thought is that the old man has lost 
his courage, his zest and enthusiasm, his hopes and con- 
fidence. 

Read slowly and mournfully. The longer lines should 



566 'l'"'^'^ (JOLDKN^ TREASURY 

move more rapidly. The I'eadiii^LH' ol' the last line should 
be solemn, deep and low, the voice descending in pitch 
and decreasing in power to the very end. This poem, 
like the preceding, is pure music: read musically. 

336 

Hrimming over with thought. The Trosachs are a 
numntain pass in Scotland, noted for their solemn maj- 
esty. The poet thinks that every nook within the Pass 
would call forth from an aged person thoughts and emo- 
tions of the transitoriness of life. He counsels those 
that drive such feelings away by art, to return to nature 
and nourish these feelings by gazing on the wonders 
and beauties of nature, which are permanent. Such 
a journey and experience Avould be thrice happy if one 
heard the robin sweeten the solemn thought with a song 
taught him by heaven. But any attempt to paraphrase 
the beautiful phraseology of the poem is defective: the 
reader must study the sonnet until he sees the meaning, 
then accept Wordsworth's language as the final and per- 
manent expression of the idea. 

Observe that the ideas of the first and second quatrain 
extend over into the following lines. Read by ideas, not 
by lines: the thought is clearer and the music finer. 
Read to make the thought clear, forcible, and musical. 
Every word in the sonnet is needed. Read slowly, then, 
and reflectively. Wordsworth's acquiescence in the laws 
of nature contrasts sharply with the discontent felt by 
other poets. The reading should bring out the resigna- 
tion and submission of the poet, his philosophic content- 
ment, and his love for nature. 

338 
One of the sublimest odes in the literature of the 
world. Once understood, it is one of the most signifi- 



NOTES 567 

cant uttcranc'C's oi' the poi't Wordsworth and one of the 
most thought-evoking poems ever written. But it is 
difficult to understand — partly because the poet is deal- 
ing with a thought that is hard to phrase, hard to turn 
into poetic language, and partly because the poet is 
dealing with experiences which most of us have never 
had. 

The poet begins his theme by stating that when he was 
a child the whole earth was clothed in heavenl}^ light, 
but that now this light has faded. (Stanza I.) The 
rainbow, the rose, the moon, the waters are still beauti- 
ful ; but a glory has passed from the earth. (Stanza 
II.) Now, while all nature is rejoicing on this happy 
spring day, the thought of what he has lost comes to 
him. But a '' timely utterance" — namely, the thought 
of this poem — gives him relief. Now he is resolved that 
the happiness of nature shall no longer mnke him grieve 
for the lost joy of childhood. The poet then rejoices in 
the beauty and jollity of nature and children. (Stanza 
III.) The poet continues to express his satisfaction in 
the happiness around him; but a tree or a field brings 
back to him the remembrance of the ecstasy he felt 
when a child, and the poet asks himself where the former 
joy has gone. (Stanza IV.) Then he sets himself to 
answer his question, and he develops the main theme of 
the poem. The infant comes from another and a happier 
country when he is born into this world, and he comes 
''trailing clouds of glory" with him. This it is that 
accounts for the fact that ''heaven lies about us in our 
infancy." Shades of the prison-house, this life, begin 
to close around the growing boy, but he still beholds the 
light and knows whence it comes. The young man 
loses more of the vision but still perceives a part of it. 
The grown man sees it die away and merge "into the 



568 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 

light of common day." (Stanza V.) Earth does her 
best to compensate the individual for the glories he has 
known in a previous existence. (Stanza VI.) More- 
over, the child, through his instinct for imitation, soon 
learns to fit himself to this life, forgetting the world 
from w^hich he has come. (Stanza VII.) The poet 
praises the child for his power to discern intuitively 
those truths which mature men and women toil all their 
lives to find, and grieves that the child should wish to 
become a man, since in that state his vision will be 
dimmed and his freedom fettered. (Stanza VIII.) The 
poet then passes to another phase of his theme. He 
rejoices that he has retained so much of the glory and 
brightness of his boyhood's vision. The thought of his 
boyhood brings to him great joy — not for that which is 
perhaps most worthy, namely, delight and liberty, the 
simple faith of children, their hope, etc. ; but rather for 
those instincts, those ''shadowy recollections" of a for- 
mer life. These shadowy recollections, whatever they 
may be, are nevertheless the foundation and inspiration 
of w^hat is best in us during all our lives. In reflective 
moods the man can travel back to his childhood and feel 
again, in part at least, the emotions he felt as a child. 
(Stanza IX.) The poet, after tracing the changes in 
the individual, returns to his former theme. He wishes 
all nature to be gay; for though the radiance of child- 
hood is gone, though nothing can bring back the time 
when all nature was apparelled in celestial light, yet he 
will not grieve but wdll find strength in what is left: in 
the youthful feeling of kinship with the universe, which, 
having once been, can never entirely disappear; in the 
resignation to human suffering; in the faith that looks 
through death to immortality beyond ; in years that bring 



NOTES 569 

the philosophic mind — in other words, the poet, though 
he has lost the intuitive faith of childhood, has attained 
the intellectual and spiritual faith of philosophy. 
( Stanza X. ) The poet then professes his love for nature, 
saying that he has but relinquished one delight — ^that 
of unconscious, spontaneous love for nature — to live 
more completely under nature's influence. Moreover, 
the beauty of nature is more appealing now than for- 
merly because he brings to his love a ripened apprecia- 
tion ; now, because of his human sympathy, the poorest 
flower can bring thoughts that were deeper than any he 
had when he was a child. 

Note that Wordsworth does not profess to believe that 
the intuitions, the visions, those mysterious experiences 
of childhood are proofs of a previous existence and there- 
fore of a future existence; he adduces them only as 
intimations, as hints. As he himself says, '^It is far too 
shadowy a notion to be recommended to faith as more 
than an element in our instincts of immortality." 
Wordsworth was unusually sensitive in youth to the 
influences of nature. He seems to have felt the imma- 
nence of God more than most children do. He says 
further: ''Nothing was more difficult for me in child- 
hood than to admit the notion of death as a state applic- 
able to my own being. * * * i used to brood over 
the stories of Enoch and Elijah and almost persuade 
myself that, whatever might become of others, I should 
be translated in something of the same way to heaven. 
With a feeling congenial to this, I was often unable to 
think of external things as having external existence, 
and I communed with all that I saw as something not 
apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature. 
Many times, while going to school have I grasped at a 



570 ^i^HE GOLDEN TREASURY 

wall or tree to recall myself from this abyss of idealism 
to the reality. * ^' * To that dream-like vividness 
and splendour, which invests objects of sight in child- 
hood, every one, I believe, if he would look back, could 
bear testimony." Now most of us either did not have 
those impressions, or did not have them so strong, or have 
forgotten them; and for this reason most of these ''inti- 
mations" do not bring as definite, thoughts. We can, 
how^ever, trust the evidence of Wordsworth and others 
peculiarly sensitive in childhood, and we can accept their 
experience, as did Wordsworth, as an article of our 
''poetic faith", if not of our religious creed. And we 
can appreciate the splendid structure of poetry and phi- 
losophy which Wordsworth has raised upon this slender 
foundation. To condense abstractions to simple, definite 
statements was one of Wordsworth 's talents, and to make 
those statements beautiful, poetic, memorable, was an- 
other. Many of the phrases in this ode have entered 
into the common speech of mankind and pass current 
as sterling symbols of thought. 

The metre is irregular. The verse turns and winds 
according to the ''lay of the ideas" — if the thought can 
be so expressed. The feet are, normally, iambic, but 
trochees and anapests are very frequent. There are 
occasional lines and passages that are abrupt, even pro- 
saic, but they serve merely to set off the more majestic, 
rhythmic passages. To the irregularity of metre is due 
much of the music of the ode and much of the impres- 
sion of passionate emotion and spontaneous, forcible 
utterance. 

None but very general suggestions can be given for 
reading aloud. You should read and study the poem 
until the theme is mastered and all the details grasped ; 



NOTES 571 

then you should read to make the ideas and emotions 
clear, powerful, and attractive. Read by ideas. Follow 
the natural rhythm of the lines. Try to catch the poet 's 
varying moods, and feel, after him, the emotions that 
the conceptions kindle in him. The poem deepens and 
widens in significance and beauty the more it is read. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

PAGE 

A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 258 

A child's a plaything for an hour 327 

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 371 

A slumber did my spirit seal 256 

A sweet disorder in the dress 118 

A weary lot is thine, fair maid 274 

A wet sheet and a flowing sea 284 

Absence, hear thou this protestation 22 

Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit . . . . . . . . 109 

Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh 265 

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd 183 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights 243 

And are ye sure tlie news is true 221 

And is this — Yarrow?— This the Stream 361 

And thou art dead, as young and fair 280 

And wilt thou leave me thus . 41 

Ariel to Miranda: — Take 350 

Art tliou pale for weariness 370 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers .... 66 

As it fell upon a day 41 

As I was walking all alane 132 

As slow our ship her foamy track 304 

At tlie corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears . . 349 

At the mid hour of night, when the stars are weeping, I fly 279 

Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones . . 83 

Awake, ^olian lyre, awake 193 

Awake, awake, my Lyre 125 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth 241 

Behold her, single in the field 348 

Being your slave, what should I do but tend 24 

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 336 

Best and brightest, come away 364 

573 



574 INDEX 

PAGE 

Bid me to live, and I will live 120 

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy 154 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 49 

Bright star! would I Avere steadfast as thou art . . . 278 

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren 56 

Calm was the day, and through the trembling air ... 61 

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms 96 

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the Sable Night 42 

Come away, come away. Death 54 

Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me 67 

Come, little babe, come silly soul 50 

Come- live with me and be my Love 19 

Come, Sleep : Sleep ! the certain knot of peace .... 39 

Come unto these yellow sands 16 

Crabbed Age and Youth 20 

Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 59 

Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench .... 101 

Daugliter of Jove, relentless power 230 

Daughter to that good Earl, once President 112 

Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy lord 343 

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move ... 70 

Down in yon garden sweet and gay 180 

Drink to me only with thine eyes 114 

Duncan Gray cam liere to woo 220 

Earl March look'd on his dying child 277 

Earth has not anything to show more fair 341 

E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks 120 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind 291 

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky 331 

Ever let the Fancy roam 376 

Fain would I change that note 20 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 137 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 136 

Farewell ! thou are too dear for my possessing .... 40 

Fear no more the heat o' the sun 55 



INDEX 575 

PAUE 

Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new . . 36 

Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow 45 

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 190 

Forget not yet the tried intent 32 

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year 411 

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 81 

From Stirling Castle we had seen 358 

Full fathom five thy father lies 56 

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may 110 

Gem of the crimson-color'd Even 265 

Get up, get up, for shame! The blooming morn . . . . 116 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 187 

Go, lovely Rose 114 

Hail thou most sacred venerable thing 157 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit .332 

Happy the man, whose wish and care 166 

Happy those early days, when I 100 

Happy were he could finish forth his fate 71 

He that loves a rosy cheek 112 

He is gone on the mountain 320 

Hence, all you vain delights 128 

Hence, loathed Melancholy 142 

Hence, vain deluding Joj's 147 

He sang of God, the mighty source 201 

High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be 23 

How happy is he born and taught 07 

How like a winter hath my absence been 24 

How sleep the brave who sink to rest . 176 

How sweet the answer Echo makes 264 

How vainly men themselves amaze 139 

I am monarch of all I survey 232 

I arise from dreams of Thee 250 

I cannot change, as others do 109 

I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way 372 

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 253 

I have had playmates, I have had campanions .... 303 



576 



INDEX 



PAGE 

I have no name 201 

I heard a thousand blended notes 379 

I meet thy pensive, moonlight face 257 

I met a traveller from an antique land 342 

I remember, I remember 308 

I saw Eternity the other night 157 

I saw her in childhood 322 

I saw my lady weep 33 

I saw where in the shroud did lurk 325 

I travell'd among unknown men 254 

I wander'd lonely as a cloud 352 

I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged Pile 397 

I wish I were where Helen lies 131 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 208 

If doughty deeds my lady please 187 

If I had thought thou couldst have died 319 

If Thou survive my well-contented day 56 

If to be absent were to be 124 

Im wearing awa', Jean 225 

In a drear-nighted December 270 

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining . . . 238 

In the sweet shire of Cardigan 300 

In this still place, remote from men 400 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 374 

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free 368 

It is not growing like a tree 98 

It was a dismal and a fearful night 133 

It was a lover and his lass 22 

It was a summer evening 296 

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking 178 

Jack and Joan, they think no ill 141 

John Anderson my jo, John 224 

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting 58 

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son 101 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 34 

Life! I know not what thou art 240 



INDEX 57Y 

PAGE 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore ... 39 

Like to the clear in highest sphere 26 

Love in my bosom, like a bee 58 

Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise 113 

Love not me for comely grace 121 

Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours 203 

Many a green isle needs must be 389 

INIary! I want a lyre with other strings 234 

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour .... 203 

IMine be a cot beside the hill 207 

Mortality, behold and fear 94 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 375 

]\Iuch have I travell'd in the realms of gold 243 

Music, when soft voices die 420 

]\Iy days among the Dead are past 311 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains .... 339 

My heart leaps up when I behold 413 

My Love in her attire doth shew her wit 119 

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow .... 54 

My thoughts hold mortal strife 53 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his .... 35 

Never love unless you can 31 

Never seek to tell thy love 191 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead 57 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 299 

Not, Celia, that I juster am 122 

Now the golden Morn aloft 163 

Now the last day of many days . 365 

blithe new-comer! I have heard 337 

O Brignall banks are wild and fair 248 

O Friend! I know not which way I must look .... 293 

O happy shades ! to me unblest 229 

O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm .... 33 

O leave this barren spot to me 343 

O listen, listen, ladies gay 323 



578 INDEX 

PAGE 

O lovers' eyes are sharp to see 276 

O Mary, at thy window be 214 

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head 45 

Mistress mine, where are you roaming 36 

my Luve's like a red, red rose .216 

never say that I was false of heart ....,,. 25 

O saw ye bonnie Lesley 215 

O cay, what is that thing call'd Light 167 

talk not to me of a name great in story 247 

O Thou, by Nature taught 164 

waly waly up the bank ........... 128 

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms . 272 

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being . . 395 

World! O Life! Time 412 

Obscurest night involved the sky 236 

Of all the girls that are so smart 185 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw . . . . . . . 223 

Of Nelson and the North 287 

Of Neptune's empire let us sing 102 

Of this fair volume which we World do name .... 69 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray 260 

Oft in the stilly night 309 

Oh snatch'd away in beauty's bloom 317 

On a day, alack the day 31 

On a Poet's lips I slept 399 

Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 292 

One more Unfortunate " 314 

One word is too often profaned . . . • 282 

On Linden, when the sun was low 294 

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd . .371 

Over the mountains 106 

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day 60 

Phoebus, arise 16 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu . 283 

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth 68 

Proud Maisie is in the wood 313 

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair 103 



INDEX 579 

PAGE 

Rough Wind, that meanest loud 412 

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 172 

Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness 355 

See with what simplicity 107 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day 29 

Shall I, wasting in despair . . . 126 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 254 

She is not fair to outward view ........ 253 

She walks in beauty, like the night 251 

She was a Phantom of delight 252 

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea . . 18 

Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part .... 44 

Sleep, angry beautj^, sleep and fear not me ' . . ... 46 

Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile . . ' . . . . 189 

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright 202 

Souls of Poets dead and gone . , 312 

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king . . 15 

Star that bringest home the bee 369 

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God 289 

Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind 279 

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes ...... 113 

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 345 

Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory .... 28 

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade .... 189 

Swiftly walk over the western wave . 267 

Take, O take those -lips away 44 

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense 401 

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind . . Ill 

Tell me where is Fancy bred 57 

That time of year thou may'st in me behold 38 

That which her slender waist confined 119 

The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day . . . . . 210 

The forward youth that would appear 84 

The fountains mingle with the river 263 

The glories of our blood and state 96 

The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King ... 72 

The lovely lass o' Inverness . . . 177 



580 



INDEX 



PAGE 

The man of life upright . 68 

The merchant, to secure his treasure 190 

The more we live, more brief appear 410 

The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 43 

The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade .... 204 

There be none of Beauty's daughters 250 

There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine 307 

There is a garden in her face 115 

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away 305 

There's not a nook within this solemn Pass 413 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream . . . 414 

The sea hath many thousand sands 48 

The sun is warm, the sky is clear 310 

The sun upon the lake is low 369 

The twentieth year is well-nigh past 234 

The world is too much with us; late and soon .... 401 

They are all gone into the world of light 135 

They that have power to hurt, and will do none ... 40 

This is the month, and this the happy morn 73 

This Life, which seems so fair 68 

Though others may her brow adore 35 

Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white 48 

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness . . . . . . 402 

Three years she grew in sun and shower 255 

Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream 179 

Timely blossom, Infant fair 170 

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry 71 

Toll for the Brave 182 

To me, fair Friend, you never can be old 26 

To one who has been long in city pent 342 

Turn back, you wanton flyer 30 

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 158 

'Twas on a lofty vase's side 168 

Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea 292 

Under the greenwood tree 21 

Upon my lap my sovereign sits 130 

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying 404 

Victorious men of earth, no more 95 



INDEX 5gl 

PAGE 

Waken, lords and ladies gay 330 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie 205 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee 52 

Weep you no more, sad fountains 28 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain 35 

We talk'd with open heart, and tongue 408 

We walk'd along, while bright and red 405 

We watch'd her breathing thro' the night 321 

When as in silks my Julia goes 119 

When Britain first at Heaven's command 171 

When first the fiery-mantled Sun 356 

When God at first made Man 99 

When he who adores thee has left but the name . . 298 

When icicles hang by the wall 37 

When I consider how my light is spent 97 

When I have borne in memory what has tamed .... 294 

When I have fears that I may cease to be 278 

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced .... 18 

When I survey the bright 155 

When I think on the happy days 223 

When in .disgrace with fortune and men's eyes .... 25 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 29 

When lovely woman stoops to folly 191 

When Love with unconfined wings 122 

When maidens such as Hester die 318 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young 197 

When Ruth was left half desolate 380 

When the lamp is shatter'd 275 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame . . 218 

When thou must home to shades of underground ... 52 

Wlien to the sessions of sweet silent thought .... 38 

When we two parted 2f69 

Where art thou, my beloved Son 328 

Where shall the lover rest 271 

W^here the bee sucks, there suck I 15 

Where the remote Bermudas ride 153 

Whether on Ida's shady brow 241 

While that the sun with his beams hot 46 

Whoe'er she be 103 



582 INDEX 

PAGE 

Why are thou silent? Is thy love a plant 268 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover 124 

Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ' . . . 262 

With Jiow sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies . . 51 

With little here to do or see 353 

With sweetest milk and sugar first 137 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 217 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 192 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 226 

Ye Mariners of England 285 

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye . . . . . . 344 

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 88 

You meaner beauties of the night Ill 



INDEX OF WRITERS WITH DATES OF BIRTH 
AND DEATH 

Alexander, William (1580-1640). page 

To Aurora 33 

Barbauld, Anna Lsetitia (1743-1825). 

To Life 240 

Barnefield, Richard (16th century). 

The Nightingale 41 

Beaumont, Francis (1586-1616). 

On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey 94 

Blake, William (1757-1827). 

Love's Secret 191 

Infant joy 201 

A Cradle Song ' . . 202 

To the Muses 241 

Burns, Robert (1759-1796). 

Lament for Culloden . . . 177 

A Farewell 187 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 192 

To a mouse 205 

Mary Morison 214 

Bonnie Lesley 215 

my Luve's like a red, red rose 216 

Highland Mary .217 

Duncan Gray 220 

Jean 223 

John Anderson 224 

Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788-1824). 

All for Love 247 

There be none of Beauty's daughters 250 

She walks in beauty, like the night 251 

When we two parted 269 

Elegy on Thyrza 280 

On the Castle of Chillon 291 

Youth and Age 305 

Elegy 317 

583 



584 INDEX OF WRITERS 

Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844). page 

Lord Ullin's Daughter 258 

To the Evening Star 265 

Earl March look'd on his dying child 277 

Ye Mariners of England 285 

Battle of the Baltic 287 

Hohenlinden 294 

The Beech Tree's Petition 343 

Ode to Winter 356 

Song to the Evening Star 369 

The Soldier's Dream 371 

The River of Life 410 

Campion, Thomas (c. 1567-1620). 

Basia 30 

Advice to a Girl 31 

In Imagine Per Transit Homo 45 

Sleep, angry beauty, sleep 46 

A Renunciation 48 

O Crudelis Amor . 52 

Sic Transit 67 

The man of life upright 68 

A Hymn in Praise of Neptune 102 

Fortunati Nimium 141 

Carew, Thomas (1589-1639). 

The I'rue Beauty 112 

Carey, Henry ( 1743). 

Sally in our Alley 18.5 

CiBBER, Colley (1671-1757). 

The Blind Boy 167 

Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849). 

She is not fair to outward view 253 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834). 

Love (Genevieve) 243 

Kubla Khan 374 

Youth and Age 404 

Collins, John (18th century). 

Tomorrow 238 

Collins, William (1720-1756). 

Ode to Simplicity 164 

Ode written in 1746 176 

The Passions 197 

Ode to Evening 208 

Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667). 

A Supplication 125 

On the Death of Mr. William Hervey 133 



INDEX OF WRITERS 585 

CowPER, William (1731-1800). page 

Loss of the Royal George 182 

To a Young Lady 189 

The Poplar Field 204 

The Shrubery 229 

The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk 232 

To Mary Unwin 234 

To the Same 234 

The Castaway 236 

Crashaw, Richard (1615?-1652). 

Wishes for the Supposed Mistress 103 

Cunningham, Allen (1784-1842). 

A wet sheet and a flowing sea 284 

Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619). 

Care-Charmer Sleep 42 

Dekker, Thomas ( 1638?). 

The Happy Heart 66 

Devereux, Robert (Earl of Essex) (1567-1601). 

A Wish 71 

Donne, John (1573-1631). 

Present in Absence 22 

Drayton, Michael (1563-1631). 

Love's Farewell 44 

Drummond, William (1585-1649). 

Summons to Love 16 

A Lament 53 

To his Lute 54 

This Life, which seems so fair ........ 68 

The Lessons of Nature 69 

Doth then the world go thus? 70 

Saint John Baptist 72 

Dryden, John (1631-1700). 

Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 81 

Alexander's Feast 158 

Elliott, Jane (18th century). 

The Flowers of the Forest (Flodden) 178 

Fletcher, John (1576-1625). 

Melancholy 128 

Gay, John (1685-1732). 

Black-eyed Susan 183 

Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774). 

When lovely woman stoops to folly 191 



586 INDEX OF WRITERS 

Graham, Robert (1735-1797). page 

If doughty deeds my lady please 187 

Gray, Thomas (1716-1771). 

Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude . . . 163 

On a Favorite Cat 168 

The Bard 172 

The Progress of Poesy 193 

Ode on the Spring 203 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard 210 

Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College .... 226 

Hymn to Adversity 230 

Greene, Robert ( 1561 ?-1592) . 

Sephestia's Song to her Child 52 

Habington, William (1605-1645). 

Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam . 155 

Herbert, George (1503-1632). 

The Gifts of God 99 

Herrick, Robert (1591-1,674?). 

Counsel to Girls 110 

To Dianeme 113 

Corinna's Maying 116 

The Poetrv of Dress, I 118- 

" "^ " " II 119 

To Anthea 120 

To Blossoms 136 

To Daffodils 137 

Heywood, Ihomas ( 1649?) 

Give my Love good-morrow 60 

Hood, Thomas (1798-1845). 

Past and Present 308 

The Bridge of Sighs 314 

The Death Bed 321 

JoNSON, Ben (1574-1637). 

The Noble Nature 98 

Hymn to Diana 103 

To Celia 114 

Keats, John (1795-1821). 

Ode on the Poets 241 

On first looking into Chapman's Homer . . . . . 243 

Happy Insensibility 270 

La Belle Dame sans Merci 272 

Bright Star! 278 

The Terror of Death 278 



INDEX OF WRITERS 587 

Keats, John (1795-1821). page 

The Mermaid Tavern 312 

Ode to a Nightingale 339 

To one who has been long in city pent 342 

Ode to Autumn 355 

The Realm of Fancy 376 

Ode on a Grecian Urn 402 

The Human Seasons 411 

Lamb, Mary (1764-1847). 

In Memorian 327 

Lamb, Charles (1775-1835). 

The Old Familiar Faces 303 

Hester 318 

On an Infant dying as soon as born 325 

LiNSDAY, Anne (1750-1825). 

Auld Robin Gray 218 

Lodge, Thomas (1556-1625). 

Rosaline 26 

Rosalynd's Madrigal 58 

Logan, John (1748-1788). 

The Braes of Yarrow 179 

Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658). 

To Lucasta, on going to the Wars HI 

To Althea from Prison 122 

To Lucasta, going beyond the Seas 124 

Lylye, John (1554-1600). 

Cupid and Campaspe 59 

Lyte, Henry Francis (1793-1847). 

A Lost Love 257 

Agnes 322 

Marlowe, Christopher (1562-1593). 

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love 19 

Marvell,, Andrew (1620-1678). 

Horatian Ode, upon Cromwell's return from Ireland . 84 

The Picture of Little T. C 107 

The Girl describes her Fawn 137 

Thoughts in a Garden 139 

Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda 153 

Mickle, W^illiam Julius (1734-1788). 

The Sailor's W^ife 221 

Milton, John (1608-1674). 

Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity 73 

On the late Massacre in Piedmont 83 

Lycidas ^^ 



588 INDEX OF WRITERS 

Milton, John (1608-1674). page 

When the Assault was intended to the City .... 96 

On his Blindness 97 

To Mr, Lawrence 101 

To Cyriack Skinner 101 

To the Lady Margaret Ley 112 

L'AIlegro 142 

II Penseroso 147 

At a Solemn Music 154 

Moore, Thomas (1780-1852). 

Echoes 264 

At the mid hour of night 279 

Pro Patria Mori 298 

The Journey Onwards 304 

The Light of other Days 309 

Nairn, Carolina (1766-1845). 

The Land o' the Leal 225 

Nash, Thomas (1567-1601?). 

Spring , . . 15 

NoRRis, John (1657-1711). 

Hymn to Darkness 157 

Philips, Ambrose (1671-1749). 

To Charlotte Pulteney 170 

Pope, Alexander (1688-1744). 

Solitude 166 

Prior, Matthew (1662-1721). 

The merchant, to secure his treasure 190 

QuARLES, Francis (1592-1644). 

A Mystical Ecstasy 120 

Rogers, Samuel (1762-1855). 

The Sleeping Beauty 189 

A Wish 207 

Scott, Walter (1771-1832). 

The Outlaw 248 

Jock o' Hazeldeun 262 

A Serenade 265 

Where shall the Lover rest? 271 

The Rover 274 

The Maid of Neidpath 276 

Gathering Song of Donald the Black 283 

The Pride of Youth 313 

Coronach 320 

Rosabelle 323 



INDEX OF WRITERS 589 

Scott, Walter (1771-1832). page 

Hunting Song 330 

Datiir Hora Quieti 369 

Sedley, Charles (1639-1701). 

Child and Maiden 109 

Not, Celia, that I juster am 122 

Shakespeare, William (1564-1616). 

The Fairly Life, I 15 

"II 16 

Sonnet-Time and Love, I 18 

" " II 18 

A Madrigal 20 

Under the greenwood tree 21 

It was a lover and his lass 22 

Sonnet — Absence 24 

« " 24 

" A Consolation 25 

" The Unchangeable ; . 25 

26 

" To his Love 29 

« « " « 29 

Love's Perjuries 31 

Sonnet — True Love 34 

Carpe Diem 36 

Winter 37 

Sonnet — That time of year 38 

" Memory 38 

Revolutions 39 

Farewell! 40 

" The Life without Passion 40 

Frustra — Take, O take those lips away 44 

Sonnet — Blind Love 45 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 49 

Dirge of Love 54 

Fidele — Fear no more the heat 55 

A Sea Dirge 56 

Sonnet — Post Mortem 56 

The Triumph of Death 57 

Young Love 57 

Sonnet — Soul and Body 68 

The World's Way 71 

Shelly, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822). 

The Indian Serenade 250 

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 253 

Love's Philosophy 263 



590 INDEX OF WRITERS 

Shelly, Percy Bysslie (1702-1822). page 

To the Night 267 

The Flight of Love 275 

One word is too often profaned . . 282 

Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples .... 310 

To a Skylark 332 

0. ymandias of Egypt 342 

To a Lady, with a Guitar 350 

The Invitation 364 

The Recollection 365 

To the Moon 370 

A Dream of the Unknown 372 

Written among the Euganean Hills 389 

Ode to the West Wind 395 

The Poet's Dream 399 

A Dirge 412 

Threnos 412 

Music, when soft voices die 420 

Shirley, James (1596-1666). 

The Last Conqueror 95 

Death the Leveller 96 

Sidney, Philip (1554-1586). 

Via Amoris 23 

A Ditty 35 

Sleep 39 

The Nightingale 43 

The Moon 51 

Smart, Christopher (1722-1770). 

The Song of David 201 

SouTHEY, Robert (1774-1843). 

After Blenheim 296 

The Scholar 311 

Spenser, Edmund (1553-1598-9). 

Prothalamion 61 

Suckling, John (1608-9-1641). 

Encouragement to a Lover 124 

Sylvester, Joshua (1563-1618). 

Love's Omnipresence 35 

Thomson, James (1700-1748). 

Rule Britannia 171 

For ever. Fortune, wilt thou prove 190 

Vaughan, Henry (1621-1695). 

The Retreat 100 

Friends in Paradise 135 

,A Vision 157 



INDEX OF WRITERS 591 

Verstegan, Richard (c. 1635). pagE 

Upon my lap my sovereign sits 130 

Waller, Edmund ( 1605-1687 ) . 

Go, lovely Rose 114 

On a Girdle 119 

Webster, John ( 1638 ?). 

A Land Dirge • 56 

WiLMOT, John (1647-1680). 

Constancy 1^9 

Wither, George (1588-1667). 

The Manly Heart 126 

Wolfe, Charles (1791-1823). 

The Burial of Sir John Moore 299 

To Mary 319 

Wordsworth, William (1770-1850). 

She was a phantom of delight 252 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 254 

I travell'd among unknown men 254 

The Education of Nature 255 

A slumber did my spirit seal 256 

Lucy Gray 260 

To a distant Friend 268 

Desideria 279 

Ode to Duty 289 

England and Switzerland, 1802 292 

On the extinction of the Venetian Republic .... 292 

London, 1802 293 

293 

Wlien I have borne in memory . . ... . . .294 

Simon Lee ^^^ 

A Lesson ^^'^ 

The Affliction of Margaret 328 

To the Skylark 331 

The Green Linnet 336 

To the Cuckoo .337 

Upon Westminster Bridge 341 

Composed at Neidpath Castle 343 

Admonition to a Traveller 344 

To the Highland Girl of Inversneyde 345 

The Reaper 348 

. The Reverie of poor Susan 349 

The Daffodils 352 

To the Daisy 353 

Yarrow Unvisited, 1803 3oS 

Yarrow Visited, 1814 . 361 



592 INDEX OF WRITERS 

Wordsworth, William (1770-1850). page 

By the Sea 368 

To Sleep 371 

The Inner Vision 375 

Written in Early Spring 379 

Ruth, or the Influences of Nature 380 

Nature and the Poet 397 

Glen-Almain, the Narrow Glen 400 

The World is too much with us 401 

Within King's College Chapel, Cambridge .... 401 

The Two April Mornings 405 

The Fountain 408 

The Trossachs 413 

My heart leaps up 413 

Ode on intimations of Immortality 414 

WOTTON, Henry (1568-1639). 

Character of a Happy Life 97 

Elizabeth of Bohemia Ill 

Wyatt, Thomas (1503-1542). 

A Supplication 32 

The Lover's Appeal . 41 

Unknown. 

Omnia Vincit 20 

A Picture 28 

A Song for Music 28 

In Lacrimas 33 

Love's Insight 35 

An honest Autolycus 36 

The Unfaithful Shepherdess 46 

Advice to a Lover 48 

A sweet Lullaby 50 

A Dilemma 58 

The Great Adventurer 106 

Love in thy youth, fair Maid 113 

Cherry Ripe 115 

My Love in her attire 119 

Love not me for comely grace 121 

Forsaken 128 

Upon my lap my Sovereign sits 130 

Fair Helen 131 

The Twa Corbies 132 

Willie Drowned in Yarrow 180 

Absence 223 



